Manhattan Skies
by EverKatie
Summary: After witnessing a murder, Kurt Hummel is shipped off to New York for protection under the critical eye of FBI agent Paul Anderson. There, he learns the ropes at the prestigious Dalton Academy while dealing with growing feelings for Paul's son, Blaine.
1. Gunshot

**I do not own Glee. I do, however, enjoy playing around in its brilliant universe every now and then.**

* * *

**Chapter One**

"**Gunshot"**

* * *

_(And So It Begins)_

In the dim light of dusk, a streetlight flickered.

Under its yellow haze, a teenage boy in jeans and an expensive-looking jacket hustled down a leaf-littered sidewalk, his boots clicking across the pavement in a quick rhythm that echoed through the stillness of the air. Even with a heavy-looking leather bag slung over his shoulder, he held himself with admirably perfect posture as he continued his lonely walk down the street. Around him, houses stood silhouetted against the evening sky, lit from inside by warm glows that somehow did not seem to extend to their eerily deserted exteriors.

The boy's phone vibrated in his pocket, and he slowed his pace momentarily, struggling to pull it free. Still walking, he squinted at the bright screen.

**hey nerd boy. how's life in the library?**

The corners of Kurt Hummel's mouth tugged upward in a slight smile; he could just _hear _Mercedes' sassily mocking tone as he read the message. His fingers moved expertly over the tiny keypad as he typed out his reply.

**just got kicked out by the librarians, unfortunately – closing time. i may, however, have just broken the record for number of books signed out at once.**

His thumb had just swiped the 'send' button when something stopped him dead in his tracks.

A long, bone-chilling cry of raw terror punctured the night air, tearing the tranquil atmosphere in half. The scream was followed by muffled, hysterical whimpering intermingled with male shouting and the sound of something heavy being thrown. For a moment, Kurt could only stand still, paralyzed by a fear that sucked the very air from his lungs, because the noises were far too close for comfort. He stood frozen, a silent observer in a nightmare, as a pair of shadowy figures moved in a violent altercation in the darkened yard of the house to his right.

Everything happened very quickly from this point. In a split second, the screaming turned into a physical struggle that was hard to make out in the dark, there were more hate-filled words, a whimper, and then...

_Crack_

A gunshot rang through the night, leaving a silence that was almost deafening in its wake. Kurt's hand flew silently to his mouth as one of the figures crumpled abruptly to the ground. For a moment, he watched in stunned silence as the murderer let out a loud, guttural shout and aimed a savage kick at the rails of the porch.

And then, several things happened at once. Time seemed to pick back up again, and all of a sudden, the frightening reality of what he had just seen crashed into him. In the background, a faint whisper of sirens floated in on the night air, and the sense of watching everything from the bubble of a nightmare washed away, replaced by the dreaded knowledge that this was all very, very real. Kurt's breath returned in a gasping intake, and he was hit was an overwhelming urge to bolt. Adrenaline coursing through his veins, he took a few clumsy steps forward, and immediately felt his knees slam into something solid. A deafening clang exploded as the metal garbage can fell forward onto the pavement and rolled noisily down the slight incline.

"HEY! _What the fuck do you think you're doing?" _Rough, vicious words sliced the air, and Kurt felt his heart stutter as the armed man's attention turned toward him. In that moment, he was overtaken by a fear so powerful that it seemed to literally crush his lungs in his chest. He didn't even notice the swelling sirens and slamming car doors behind him. In his haze, he took a few steps backward and let out a sharp scream when he bumped into something warm. Immediately, a pair of arms wrapped around him and he was shoved harshly into the side of a police car.

"Get in and get down," a deep voice ordered, and a man in uniform flung the door open and guided him in, hand splayed across his back. Dumbfounded, Kurt did as he was told, sinking down in the worn leather seat and struggling to breath normally as the door slammed behind him. Outside, there was a cacophony of shouting mixed with the loud chorus of sirens.

Finally, the chaotic sounds began to dissipate, and Kurt swallowed. Hesitantly, driven by some eerie curiosity, he used his hands to push himself up into a straighter sitting position, rising until his eyes were just level with the window. He saw them immediately; not too far away, two uniformed figures held the man between them as they moved toward the adjacent vehicle. The prisoner, despite his handcuffs, was writhing in their grasp and shouting unintelligible words at the cloudy sky.

And then they were right next to the window, passing by. Kurt instantly shrunk down again, but it was too late – the man's eyes connected with his own through the tinted glass and widened in hostile recognition. He made a slight lunge toward him, scruff-lined face betraying a sort of insanity, and even the thick doors of the car could not block out the sound of his words as he struggled against the policeman's hold, eyes wild with madness.

The first half of his slurred speech was incomprehensible to Kurt, but what he understood at the end was more than enough to make him blood run cold as it reached his ears.

"_I'm going to fucking kill_ _you_."

_(Two Months Later)_

"_Not guilty_?" Kurt's voice, heightened out of rage, echoed through the lavishly-furnished office of Jeremy Brant. "You've got to be kidding me!"

Beside him, his father rested his forehead against his hands. Burt Hummel looked completely worn – his shirt was wrinkled, his hat askew and his eyes weary beyond what was natural. "I just... don't understand what you're telling me," he croaked.

The two of them, having opted out of watching the trial, had been waiting in leather chairs for almost three hours to hear the final verdict. Jeremy Brant, a well-connected local barrister and an old friend of Burt's, had just broken the news to them, as promised.

With a deep sigh, Brant dropped the folder he had been carrying onto his desk and splayed his palms across its surface, leaning heavily onto them. "Just got the call from Hanaway," he told them. "They took your testimony into account, Kurt, but pleading insanity was a good move – Judge Reynolds dropped the murder charge."

"That's completely ridiculous!" Kurt burst out. "Of course he's insane – that's what makes the whole thing so terrifying!"

Burt brought a hand down onto the table sharply. "This... this psycho murders his wife, and then _threatens _my son, tells him he's going to_ kill _him, and he just... gets away with it?" His face was one of complete and utter incredulity. "How does that _happen_?"

"Listen, Burt," Brant began, taking a seat in the elaborate chair behind his desk. "I'm with you, but there was some very compelling evidence to suggest that this guy was completely nuts. Apparently, Reynolds is sending him to a facility here in Lima where they deal with mental illness."

"Here. In Lima," Burt repeated, his tone deadpan. "You've got to be kidding me, Jer."

When the barrister only shook his head slightly, Burt looked around the room wildly for a moment, as though flailing for some hope that this was all a crazy hallucination. Finally, he stopped moving and looked Brant straight in the eye. "I don't want that monster anywhere _near _my son," he said, his tone deadly.

Brant nodded solemnly. "I know. Here's the thing – according to Hanaway, this place, St. Bernadette's_, _is being shut down in February. When that happens, they'll send him out-of-state."

"Why don't they just send him away now?" Kurt cut in. He was curled up on the chair with his arms wrapped tightly around his body. "Why wait until February?"

"From the sound of things, he gets a grace period so that his family can sort some stuff out." Brant shook his head and exhaled. "I didn't get all the details, but it's an unusual situation."

There was a moment of silence where everyone seemed to digest what they were hearing. Kurt, whose eyes were full of fear and wetness, hugged himself even tighter as he stared hard at the wall opposite. Beside him, Burt clenched and unclenched his fists on a unceasing loop, looking as though he wanted to throttle someone. Brant removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes, looking pensive.

"And there's nothing we can do?" Burt finally asked, his voice gravelly.

Brant lowered his head. "Sorry, Burt. Victims can't appeal a not guilty verdict."

Silence. The depression in the air was almost suffocating.

"Right, well... thanks for letting us know anyway, Jer," Burt finally offered, rising from his chair. Wordlessly, Kurt followed suit, and his father placed a hand on his shoulder as they walked out of the office.

Jeremy Brant stared at their retreating figures for a long moment with a deep frown on his face. His fingers tapped on the mahogany surface of his desk several times as his mouth straightened into a contemplative line.

Finally, he seemed to make a decision. In a swift motion, his hand shot for the phone on his desk. **  
**

_(A Proposition)_

When Kurt and his father arrived back home, the door flung open before either of them could even touch the handle. Carole stood framed in the doorway, looking anxious.

"How'd it go?"

"Our legal system is a joke, that's how it went," Burt responded, storming across the threshold.

Behind him, Kurt walked silently into the tiled entrance hall; he hadn't said a word since they had left the lawyer's office. Even now he simply stood there, listening vaguely as Burt relayed all the details to Carole, making angry, sweeping gestures with his hands. In his hollow daze, he noticed Finn standing awkwardly in the hallway, mouth hanging open slightly in a blank stare. He caught his eye.

Finn shut his mouth, but still managed to look totally stunned. "Dude, that sucks," he offered.

Carole, hearing this exchange, turned toward Kurt with an expression of concern that could almost be described as motherly. "Kurt, I'm so sorry."

Kurt nodded microscopically to acknowledge their sentiments. When he finally spoke, his tone was eerily calm. "Thank you for your condolences, everyone, but I think I just need to be alone right now," he monotoned. And with that, he turned and walked dully down the hallway, brushing past Finn and leaving silence in his wake.

When he reached his room, he shut the door and sunk down onto his bed, leaning forward to remove his shoes. His heart felt heavy. It was clear to anyone who knew him that Kurt Hummel had not been quite his usual self in the two months following the incident. He had been quieter, somehow, and seemed to have lost that superior air that had once been his trademark. Admittedly, things had been improving as the events of that night were pushed further and further back by the growing buffer of time. But now, the memories were resurfacing, and Kurt felt the pressing weight of anxiety on his chest.

With a deep exhale, he dropped down so that he lay flat on his back.

"Kurt!"

That was Burt's voice, travelling faintly through the closed door.

"Kurt?" he called again. "Can you come here for a minute?"

Slowly, Kurt sat up. His head hurt. "Coming!" he shouted back, sliding off of the bed.

As it turned out, his father's voice had been coming from the entrance hall. Kurt's eyes registered surprise when he turned the corner and found Burt and Carole talking to a dark-haired man he had never seen before.

Noticing him, Burt gestured towards the stranger. "Kurt, this is – "

"Agent Young, FBI," the man interrupted in a deep voice, flashing his badge with a deadly serious expression. A millisecond later, his face broke into a goofy smile. "Sorry, I always get a kick out of that. The name's Dean." He extended a hand, which Kurt shook loosely, still looking quite taken aback.

"Why don't you come in and have a seat?" Carole offered.

A few seconds later, the four of them were seated in the living room – Kurt, Burt and Carole sitting across the long sofa and the visitor sitting opposite them on the adjacent couch.

"So I got a phone call today from a friend of mine – Jeremy Brant," Dean began. "Told me all about your situation, Kurt," he looked toward the boy, "and asked me if there was anything I could do about it."

Burt's eyes quirked open in a look of questioning. "Jeremy said it was hopeless," he pointed out, glancing sideways at Kurt. "He said we couldn't appeal the verdict."

Dean nodded. "That's right," he replied slowly, leaning forward and placing his hands on his knees "... but I had something a little different in mind. A diluted version of the WPP, I guess you could call it."

"WPP?" Carole repeated, puzzled.

"Witness Protection Program," Dean clarified, and Kurt's looked slightly startled. "I'm not talking changing names and moving to another country," the agent added hastily, reading his expression.

Burt raised his eyebrows. "What exactly _are_ you talking?"

"Now, this isn't standard protocol," Dean seemed to feel obligated to mention, "but it wouldn't be the first time we've done it. I've been in touch with one of our Manhattan-based agents, and he's on board to have Kurt come out and stay with him until this place is shut down in February."

Despite the situation and all the negativity attached to it, Kurt felt something light up inside of him at the mention of New York. A dream city. _His _dream city.

"It wouldn't be anything too drastic," the agent assured them, "just something to keep him away until this guy's well and truly out of the picture. It's completely up to you."

Burt and Carole were looking at each other with expressions of concern. There was an extended period of silence.

"I don't know – this all seems kind of... unbelievable, to be honest," Burt finally spoke.

"Understandable," Dean replied mildly.

The elder Hummel reached up to adjust his hat. "Be straight with me here. Do you think it's necessary?"

"Honestly?" Dean folded his arms. "From what I've heard, I don't think there's a very high chance that this guy is actually after Kurt. He's clinically insane, after all – he may not even remember him from that night," he reasoned. "_But..." _he paused. "I _do _believe in the whole 'it's better to be safe than sorry' concept. And if Kurt's going to be living in fear for four months here, then that's not a good thing."

Hesitantly, Burt nodded. "... Kurt?"

The boy glanced up, distracted from his own thoughts about the matter. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, finally:

"Alright, I'm not saying I want to, but if I _were _to do this... what exactly would it entail?"

_(Kurt and Burt)_

The last of the sun's rays floated through the window and covered Kurt's bedroom in a layer of misty gold as he finally managed to squash his suitcase shut. Letting out a breath of relief, he flopped onto the ground beside it and sat there for a moment, eyes trained on the dusky sky behind the framed glass. Apparently, despite his best efforts, it was not physically possible to stuff his entire wardrobe into the one oversized Luis Vuitton suitcase that he had planned to take with him to New York. Thus, another couple of bags had been unearthed from the basement in order to accommodate his colossal clothing collection. It had been a lengthy struggle, but four hours, three suitcases and a possible hernia later, Kurt had somehow managed to make it work.

A mere three days had passed since Agent Dean Young's visit, and already things were rapidly spinning into motion. It seemed that the moment Kurt had decided to go ahead with the insanely spontaneous plan, some magician had clicked their fingers and everything had started changing all at once. Dean had done a commendable (and clearly well-practised) job of answering all of Burt's concerned-parent questions ('Will he be going to school?', 'How often will he be able to contact us?' and of course 'How much is all this going to cost?') Apparently, Kurt had been enrolled in a all-boys private school in Manhattan called 'Dalton Academy' (which he was rather nervous about, to be honest). While he was forbidden from bringing his cell phone with him to New York, the FBI would be arranging frequent Skype calls back home in order to keep his family in the loop. Most surprising of all, however, was the news that they did not have to pay a single cent for this entire operation. ("Are you _sure _you're actually an FBI agent? Are we being punked here?) Just as Dean had said, they were treating the situation as a dimmed down, temporary sort of Witness Protection Program.

The only part that Kurt felt any sort of real resentment over was the strict command he was under not to tell anyone outside of his immediate family what was going on, or where he was going. As far as anyone knew, he was going to stay with his Aunt Marigold in Kentucky for a few months. The only people privy to the truth were Burt, Carole and Finn, who had been warned by Agent Young not to tell a single soul at McKinley (apparently, his stepbrother didn't give the impression of being a particularly great secret keeper). With every lie he'd told at school over the past couple of days, Kurt had felt a wave of guilt within his stomach – especially when he had had to tell Mercedes that he'd dropped his phone down a sewer and wouldn't be able to answer any of her phone calls for a little while. As if his conscience hadn't already been eating him alive, Rachel and Tina had organized a little party in Glee Club earlier that day to bid Kurt farewell for his trip to "Kentucky". There had even been a cake with frosted bluegrass and an artistic marshmallow rendition of the Kentucky Derby, which Rachel had bragged to anyone who would listen that she had made completely from scratch. Somehow, Kurt had managed to smile through almost-tears as he shovelled down the marshmallow horses that might as well have been made out of deceit. Goodbyes were hard, but they were almost unbearable when you were lying to your friends.

"Kurt?" His door creaked open a little, and Burt stuck his head inside. "You all set?"

Kurt let out a long breath. "Not really." He chuckled humorlessly and glanced up at his dad.

Slackening his grip on the doorknob, Burt nudged the door open with the flat of his hand and stepped across the threshold, a strange sort of expression on his face. "Listen," he began, and Kurt was immediately sure of where this was headed – it was only about the gajillionth time, after all. Sure enough: "Are you _sure_ you want to do this?"

"Yes." Kurt didn't hesitate. Because underneath the incredible amount of nervousness, a fragment of excitement burned. "I think it's the right thing to do." Biting his lip, he glanced upward again. "Do you?"

Burt raised his eyebrows. "If it's what you want, then as far as I'm concerned, it's the right thing to do."

Kurt responded with a fleeting smile and picked at a loose thread on one of his suitcases.

"Nervous?" Burt queried.

"Very."

"I'm nervous _for _you," his father told him, and then let out a breath of shaky laughter. "Just... don't get into any trouble, alright?"

"Dad, you _know _me. I'm practically cursed." Kurt's tone was heavily sardonic. "... But... I'll try my best."

In this tiny window of silence, a faint trace of the doorbell could be heard.

"That'll be Dean," Burt announced, although they both knew this already. The agent had arranged to take Kurt to the airport and see him off.

Kurt swallowed – whatever nerves he had been feeling before had just multiplied exponentially. "Right, well, I'll get my stuff," he announced, rising to his feet.

"Kurt." His father's tone stopped him in his tracks. Burt was staring at him with a swarm of emotions on his face; he seemed to be having a hard time phrasing what he wanted to say. "I'm... proud of you. For doing this."

For some reason, this statement caused tears to prickle in Kurt's eyes. "Thanks Dad," he croaked. Then, he silently crossed the floor and wrapped his arms around his father, burying his face in his shoulder. "I'm going to miss you," he said, the words muffled through the cotton of his shirt.

"I'll miss you, too." Burt tightened his grip on his son. "Be safe, okay?"

A moment later, as they manoeuvred the three overweight suitcases down the hallway to meet Dean, Kurt felt a swelling sense within him of something ending. But right there, overshadowing it, was a feeling that something new was about to begin. Outside, the sun sunk lower on the horizon, covering the world in stripes of pink and gold.

_(New York)_

"Ladies and gentleman, we are approaching our descent into New York. Please remain seated with your seatbelt fastened and switch off all electronic devices. All hand luggage must be stowed either in the overhead lockers or under the seat in front. Thank you."

Skin prickling, Kurt sat up a little straighter in his seat and glanced out the window. Beneath him stretched a twinkling mass of city lights that burned brightly in the darkness. Even from the air, New York City seemed to beat with a pulse of energy, lights contracting and expanding as tiny cars raced through the streets below.

The flight had been short, but it had felt like hours and hours of sitting on the edge of a precipice and just waiting to fall in. The cocktail of apprehension and excitement that was coursing through Kurt's veins merely grew more potent as the plane fell lower in the sky. His stomach kept dropping, though he wasn't sure if it was from the descent or simply his nerves. It was only when the wheels of the plane finally touched the runway with a slight bounce that he noticed his hands were curled tightly around the armrests on either side of him, the knuckles turning an ashen shade of white.

"Well now, did they land the plane, or were we shot down?" The little old lady next to him quipped, noticing Kurt's anxious face. She sent him a reassuring smile, which he returned halfheartedly; there was no point in trying to explain the real source of his fear to her. Minutes later, the seatbelt sign flickered to black, and there was an immediate rush as passengers rose to remove their bags from the overhead lockers. Kurt remained seated amidst the chaos, heart thudding against his ribcage. Dean had assured him that the agent he would be staying with, Paul Anderson, would be waiting at baggage claim to pick him up, but the stress of flying alone for the first time and meeting this man were strong forces, and his uneasiness was growing.

Eventually, the mass of bodies began to filter out of the plane, and Kurt managed to calm himself down enough to rise and pick up his carry-on, which had been stowed safely at his feet for the entire trip. (There was no way anything by Marc Jacobs was going to go in one of those overcrowded luggage compartments.)

The walk from the arrival gate to baggage claim was far too short. Kurt didn't feel prepared at all when he rounded the corner and saw the spinning carousels and mobs of people interspersed with trolleys and suitcases. He slowed his pace, tightening his grip on the strap of his bag, and scanned the crowd. For a minute, he was simply a lone figure, lost amidst the chaos as people milled around him in every direction.

Then, he spotted it. A simple, white square of paper with 'Kurt' scrawled across it in black marker. Unlike Agent Dean Young, with his laid-back mannerism and youthful grin, the man holding the sign fit the FBI agent stereotype to a tee. He was tall and brawny, with greying brown hair, a square jaw and solemn, deep-set eyes. His suit was impeccable, and Kurt's first thought was that he must sleep in it, because it was impossible to imagine this man wearing anything else.

Taking a deep breath, he made a beeline for the sign-bearer. "Hi," he greeted him. "I'm Kurt."

The man looked a little taken aback by the pitch of his voice, which didn't surprise Kurt; that was a fairly common reaction. What _was _unsettling, however, was that those deep-set eyes raked over him painfully, roving from his tight jeans to his slate grey button-up to his carefully styled hair, and then narrowed.

"You're Kurt Hummel?" he asked, as though to double check. His gaze was critical.

Kurt nodded, feeling slightly uncomfortable but holding his head high.

After a noticeable pause, the man extended his hand. "Paul Anderson," he said curtly. The handshake lasted about a millisecond before Paul broke away. He cleared his throat. "Let's get your bag."

_(First Sight)_

The trip from the airport was one of the most uncomfortable car rides of Kurt's life. After squeezing all three of Kurt's bulky suitcases into the trunk of a shiny black SUV, Paul had taken a seat behind the wheel and refused to say a single word for the remainder of the journey.

Kurt couldn't help but wonder if he had done something to offend this man, and kept racking his brain for an instance where this might have occurred. For the life of him, he couldn't figure it out. They had barely exchanged two words, after all. There was _one _thought that kept resurfacing, but it was one he didn't want to dwell on. No, he would give Paul Anderson the benefit of the doubt – weren't New Yorkers supposed to be more open-minded than that?

In the stilted silence, Kurt watched the hustle and bustle of New York City at night as it whooshed past the car window. Everything was colourful lights and silhouetted crowds and eclectic outfits, and for the first time, it began to sink in that he was actually in _New York_. Despite the rough start, he felt excitement rising. This, he knew, was without a doubt where he wanted to be one day. Images of Broadway and Breakfast at Tiffany's raced through his mind.

Unfortunately, these thoughts led to Rachel, and he felt a weird pang when he remembered their pact to visit New York together for the first time. _Well, so much for that, _he thought. He could just imagine his ambitious friend's jealousy if she knew where he was right now. But desperate times called for desperate measures – surely she would understand.

Kurt's mind wandered as they crossed over into Manhattan, but he continued to stare idly out the window, eyes drinking in the elaborate architecture of the buildings. They must have been driving through the Upper East Side, he decided, judging by the sheer scale and extravagance of most of the dwellings. It came as a huge surprise when Paul slowed the SUV to a halt right in front of one of these establishments – a towering townhouse made of a light material that almost looked like marble in the night – and turned off the ignition.

"Well, here we are," he said, opening his door.

Raising his eyebrows, Kurt followed suit, stepping out onto the clean pavement and immediately allowing his eyes to train up the tall face of the building. It was at least three stories high, with large picture windows, swirling embellishments and several well-maintained shrubs at the base – the kind of place that was probably worth a fortune.

"Come on in," Paul said, his tone blunt and detached. "I'll have Roger get your bags later."

He led the way across the sidewalk and up a small set of steps that gave an impression of grandeur despite its size. Kurt's jaw dropped when the enormous door swung open to reveal a spacious, high-ceilinged foyer featuring a twisting staircase that rose elegantly into the darkness above. The furnishings were classical, set upon gleaming hardwood floors, and the walls were covered in beautiful pastel-toned paintings that were similar in their very distinctive style. The air smelled like cool designer fragrance with faint overtones of warm home cooking.

"Paul? Is that you?"

A gentle voice floated into the foyer, and a petite woman stepped out of an adjoining room. Her black hair fell to her shoulders, framing a kind face with soft, dark eyes that immediately zeroed in on Kurt. There was a moment where her eyebrows rose a notch and she shot a quick, apprehensive glance at Paul. It was gone in a second though, and her face broke into a warm but subdued smile.

"Oh, hello," she extended a hand, "you must be Kurt. I'm Evelyn, Paul's wife."

Kurt noticed she spoke with a faint accent. With a polite nod, he grasped her hand. "Yep, that's me. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise," she responded. "Are you hungry? Dinner's still in the oven, but it shouldn't be too much longer."

"Yeah, that sounds great."

"Chase here yet?" Paul cut in.

Evelyn nodded. "He and Delilah are upstairs with Blaine." She swivelled her head. "Kurt, why don't I go introduce you?"

"Oh." Kurt tried to hide his surprise, but it showed through crystal clear on his face. No one had warned him that this man had children. He blinked. "Okay. Sure."

Evelyn smiled and gestured for him to follow her up the winding staircase.

Kurt made to follow, and then paused. "Um, by the way, I really appreciate everything that you're doing for me." He'd been waiting for the opportune moment to drop this necessary thank you, but as it turned out, that moment did not seem to exist. It came out a lot more awkwardly than he would have liked.

Evelyn, however, merely smiled sweetly; the expression lit her face with a warm sort of glow. "It's not a problem, hun," she said. "We're happy to help."

The reaction displayed by her husband was a complete contrast in its coldness. He offered nothing but a curt nod and then said: "I'm going to go clean up for dinner," before turning on his heel.

"He's had a long day," Evelyn offered as she and Kurt made their way up the stairs a few moments later. "Please don't take it personally."

Rambunctious conversation and loud laughter met Kurt's ears as they reached the upper landing. The source seemed to be a room at the very end of the hallway, where the door was slightly ajar and a stream of light was pouring out from the crack.

"NO! Die die die! _Crap_!" A frustrated male voice rang out loudly, mixed with what sounded like a rapid pressing of buttons and an evil female cackle. "Blaine, we're banding together next time and taking her sorry ass _down_."

"That's what you said last time, Chase. Clearly, we failed."

"Well, maybe if you stopped playing Jigglypuff and chose someone with actual—"

"Knock, knock," Evelyn said, sticking her head through the door. "He's here, guys."

Three heads swivelled as Kurt shuffled into the room. A dark-haired male and a girl who looked to be in their early twenties sat side by side, blinking at him in that typical sizing up, first sight sort of way. Sitting nearby was the final occupant of the room—a teenage boy who appeared to be around his age...

_Oh._

Kurt's eyes widened for a moment, because this boy was, well, very attractive; dark curls, thick lips and hazel eyes framed by huge fans of long, thick eyelashes. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, long-sleeved sweater fitting his form with classical elegance and a video game controller held loosely in one hand. It was only after a moment that Kurt realized that those eyes were staring fairly intently back at him. He swallowed. Vaguely, he realized that Evelyn was introducing him, and tried to focus.

"... and this is—"

"Blaine," the attractive teen interjected, rising to extend a hand with a gentle smile on his face.

His hand was warm, and Kurt smiled back. "Hi." _God, his eyes were spectacular._

"Blaine's a junior too – he'll be showing you around Dalton tomorrow," Evelyn supplied, and Kurt felt a strange rush of anticipation at the thought.

"Great," he managed to respond, if a little vaguely.

"You'll love it," Blaine assured him; he spoke confidently in a voice that was smooth and melodic (the musical geek inside of Kurt felt the need to point out). "It's a really good school."

"Good to know." Embarrassingly, his voice came out a little higher than usual, and he coughed a little to clear his throat. "I'll admit, I'm a little nervous."

Blaine offered a reassuring smile. "You'll be fine; trust me."

"I have to go check on dinner," Evelyn said. "Kurt, we'll get you all settled in after we eat, alright?"

The moment her footsteps faded, the older boy turned to Kurt with a crooked grin. He bore a vague resemblance to Blaine, though he was good-looking in a more unusual way. His hair was straighter and more of a jet black shade, his face more angular. It was his hazel eyes that held the likeness, though the comparative darkness of his hair made them appear more green than brown against his skin. "So," he said conversationally, "you're the one who's going to be living in this hell hole for a few months, huh?"

"Way to instill him with confidence, Chase," the girl (Delilah, Kurt recalled vaguely) commented, leaning over him to grab a gummi worm from a mostly depleted package. For the first time, Kurt really got a look at her, and what he saw was mildly surprising: a freckly face, a toffee-coloured vintage dress and a long, wavy mass of dirty blonde hair that tumbled down her back, highlighted by a thick streak of bubblegum pink. Two pieces of chunky purple plastic hung from her ears. "Here, sit down." She patted the beanbag next to her, encouragement in her cat-like eyes.

As he lowered himself primly into the soft chair, Kurt raised his eyebrows, looking thoroughly incredulous. "Hell hole?" he repeated. "You're crazy. This place is like something out of Gossip Girl."

Chase laughed at this, though the sound was wry. "And trust me, it's just as fucked up."

Blaine, who had been sizing up Kurt out of the corner of his eyes, frowned. "Listen, I hope Dad didn't said anything... _unpleasant _on the way here_._"

"He... didn't really say anything at all, actually." Kurt cocked his head. "Why?"

"Nothing," Blaine replied. "Just... he's not the friendliest person in the world."

"He hates me," Delilah threw in casually as she tore the head off of a gummi worm with her teeth.

"How come?"

"Who knows. Apparently, I'm not good enough for Chase. Or something."

Chase snorted. "But luckily, we don't really give a fuck what my dad thinks, so it's all good." He reached over and grabbed her hand, and Kurt was momentarily taken aback by how open they were all being with him.

Awkwardly, he cleared his throat. Then: "So you two are brothers?" he asked, just to clarify, eyes flicking back and forth between Chase and Blaine.

"Unfortunately." Blaine smiled. "But don't worry, you won't have to put up with him twenty-four seven. Chase and Dee live on the West Side – they're at Columbia. We only get the pleasure of seeing them about once a week."

"Columbia," Kurt repeated, impressed. "What are you studying?"

"Architecture," was Chase's response. He nudged Delilah in the side. "And Dorky McNerdbrain is on a full academic scholarship for the Chemical Engineering program."

Delilah made a face. "_Dorky McNerdbrain?_" She turned to Kurt very seriously. "I apologize for his complete lack of social skills," she stage whispered. "Sometimes it's best to just let him believe that he's funny."

"Oh please, I'm hilarious," Chase replied, and Delilah shoved his shoulder so roughly that he fell sideways off of his beanbag.

As Chase struggled to right himself, Blaine shot Kurt a look that said _Don't worry, I think they're crazy too. _ Kurt smiled, marvelling at the way his heart seemed to beat a little faster merely with the knowledge that Blaine's eyes were on him. And then, suddenly fearful that his attraction was blatantly obvious, he jerked his eyes away and forced them to focus on something, anything...

He found his distraction in the form of the entertainment set-up, currently on mute, that was sitting in the corner of the room. "Is that a Gamecube?" he marvelled. A quick flick towards the screen, and then: "Wait, is that... _Super Smash Melee_?"

"Correct." Chase tossed him a controller. "Wanna join? Maybe you can help us take down the Master."

Delilah cracked her fingers and reached for her own controller. "I wouldn't count on it."

"I didn't even know these things were still in existence," Kurt said, admiring the familiar screen layout and revelling in the nostalgia that came with it. He and his father had played the game a fair bit in his younger years—Kurt more for the limited character customization options and colourful background designs than the actual fighting, but still. It had been something to bond over, and that was all that mattered.

"I found it at a thrift store," Delilah explained. "Five bucks for the game and the console."

Interest piqued, Kurt turned toward her and raised an eyebrow. "Impressive," he said. "And that's coming from someone who's practically a professional thrifter."

Excitedly, Delilah clasped her hands together. "Really? I think we're going to be great friends, Kurt. I'll show you all the best spots to shop in the big apple."

Chase shook his head slightly as he turned up the volume on the TV. "Be warned, when she says 'all the spots' she _means _it. It's a compulsion." He dropped the remote and exchanged it for his controller. "Remember how to play?"

"Sure, it's only been a decade or so..."

Blaine laughed; the sound was almost musical. "It's sort of like riding a bike," he said. "I don't think anyone forgets how to play SSB."

Kurt grimaced. "I don't think I ever really _knew _how to play in the first place," he said, fingers moving over the controller as he set his character to his old standby, Kirby. "My strategy was always just press-as-many-buttons-as-possible-and-hope-for-the-best."

"Sadly, you'll probably still beat me," Blaine said, and then: "Chase, are you playing Bowser _again_?"

"Bowser is bad-ass, okay? And like you can talk, Jigglypuff. Talk about single-handedly promoting every gay stereotype in existence..."

And just like that, Kurt's eyes widened and the sound in the room all but faded out as he examined Blaine's profile with a new kind of vision. So... Blaine was gay. Huh. Strangely, even his fine-tuned, military strength gaydar hadn't picked up entirely on that one.

Not that it really mattered or anything, considering he probably had a boyfriend. And now Kurt was staring at him. Yep, he was definitely still staring. He needed to look away now...

"Ready?" Chase queried, thumb poised over the start button.

This shook Kurt back to reality. "Wait," he said, flicking the colour change button on his controller. "I have to be the blue Kirby."

"Why blue?" Delilah asked.

"Because the blue Kirby is clearly superior to any other Kirby."

Chase shook his head. "Kirby and Jigglypuff..." he scoffed. "Guess I'm taking on Dee on my own here."

The game started and he promptly fell off of a cliff, leaving Blaine and Kurt to fly happily overhead.

Smugly, Blaine smiled. "Puffballs unite! Take them down together, Kurt?"

Blue eyes met hazel ones, and Kurt felt his lips curve upwards. "You bet."

_(A Revelation or Two)_

After dinner, which had turned out to be a formal, mildly uncomfortable event, Delilah went searching for her purse and then shrugged on her coat—a vintage-looking tweed affair with a preposterous number of buckles.

"Leaving so soon?" Evelyn queried as she emerged from the adjoining kitchen.

"Yeah, thanks a lot for dinner, but my dad has chemo tonight—I'm meeting him at Sloan-Kettering."

At this, Elaine nodded, her eyes betraying a hint of empathy. "Alright, all the best, Delilah."

"Thanks, Mrs. Anderson. And nice to meet you, Kurt. You haven't seen the last of me, I promise."

Kurt smirked. "I hope not, I'm still determined to beat you at least _once._"

"Don't count on it. But I stand by my shopping offer. Bye, Blaine."

"See you," he said, raising his hand in a casual salute.

Chase opened the door for Delilah and followed her out into the night, letting it latch softly behind him.

"Now, Kurt," Evelyn said, "let me show you where you'll be sleeping."

"It's alright, Mom, I've got it," Blaine interjected.

"No, really, Blaine, that's—"

"Mom, seriously."

She looked behind her briefly and pursed her lips. "Alright, fine." A pause, and then: "Anita made the bed this morning, so that should be all set. Remember the uniform. And show him the bathroom—don't forget to find him a towel."

"Got it. Come on, Kurt." With a small smile, Blaine turned and headed up the polished staircase, taking the steps two at a time. Kurt followed along silently as he led the way to the very end of the hallway and grabbed the handle of the only closed door on the landing.

"Welcome," he said with a flourish as he swung it open.

Eyes wide and inquisitive, Kurt followed him inside. It was a reasonably spacious room with hardwood flooring and simple furnishings, and he decided right off the bat that he was in love with the colour palette. Dark blues and mahoganies wove their way into various elements, offering visual unity to the overall composition without creating monotony. He noted his suitcases sitting neatly in the corner. Experimentally, he grinned and dropped down onto the plush-looking bed. "Bouncy," he commented.

Blaine laughed. "Waterbed. Just don't jump on it, unless you want to unleash the second coming of Noah's Ark." He grimaced, eyes cloudy with painful remembrance. "Chase and I already learned that one the hard way..."

Kurt let out a low whistle. "Sounds like a catastrophe."

"I don't think I've ever seen so much water indoors in my life; we had to replace the entire floor and ceiling. My dad wouldn't speak to us for weeks. Not that that was really out of the ordinary, but..." He trailed off.

"Your dad," Kurt said, cautiously, "I don't think he likes me very much."

A sigh. Blaine seemed to consider something for a minute, and then surprised Kurt by sitting down next to him on the bed. "Kurt... listen. Without making any assumptions this early in the game, I..." He seemed to change his approach. "The thing is, my dad has this... aversion to anything that's not all about football and cars and... well, let's put it this way—I'm pretty much the disappointment of the century as far as he's concerned." He sighed, and clarified: "I'm gay," and there was something in his innocent, hazel-eyed stare that made Kurt's heart skip a beat. "My dad's never really been able to accept it, and so you can imagine that when you came along, he probably couldn't see past the hair, and the clothes, you know?" He backtracked hurriedly: "Not to make any assumptions—"

"It's okay." Kurt shrugged. "You can pretty much smell it on me, I know."

Blaine blushed a little—or was it Kurt's imagination? "Anyway, I guess what I'm saying is that it's my fault, really, and I'm sorry you have to wear my dad's and my problems like this..."

"Hey, you shouldn't be apologizing for anything," Kurt said. "And remember, I'm from Ohio. I'm used to this sort of thing, believe me."

Blaine smiled gratefully, and then the two boys stared at their feet for a few moments.

"Anyway." Blaine snapped to his senses, springing off the bed. "Bathroom's at the end of the hallway—you can take a shower whenever. Oh, and I almost forgot, hang on." He left the room briefly and returned carrying a neatly pressed stack of clothing and a fluffy bath towel, the latter of which he deposited on the dresser.

"Ta-da, what do you think?" He laid the uniform down on top of the bed covers so that Kurt could get a good look at it.

"Oh god, is that a blazer?"

"Yep. And it's all yours. You're an official Dalton boy starting tomorrow, remember?"

Kurt grimaced. "How could I forget?"

"Hey, don't be nervous; we're not _too _weird."

"I find that sentence mildly concerning."

Blaine brushed his comment away. "Well _I'm _not weird, anyway. And I'll stick with you, so don't worry."

Kurt smiled. "Alright, well, thanks."

"I'll see you in the morning then. Anita—she's our housekeeper—will wake you up at seven." He paused before heading out the door. "Take my advice on this one... you want to get up on her first wake-up call. Her methods get progressively worse and worse the longer you sleep in."

"Duly noted."

"And my room's right across the hallway if you need anything."

"Alright... Thanks, Blaine."

"No problem. Night, Kurt."

As Blaine left the room, pulling the door closed behind him, Kurt sat still for a minute or two. Then, he realized that he was wearing a semi-smile that probably looked completely ridiculous, if not a little creepy, and attempted to force his face back into some semblance of normal. Finally, he glanced to his right to size up the uniform again. Picking up the blazer, he walked over the mirror on the vanity table and held it up to his chest. Hmm, not bad, he decided. Navy was definitely one of his better colours. Somehow, he found himself spacing out and imagining how Blaine might look in this uniform, with the blazer hugging his chest snugly...

...And then he dropped the offending piece of clothing back onto his bed as though it were on fire, annoyed with his brain for even going there. He'd barely been here four hours and he was already developing a crush someone. Even for Kurt, that had to be some sort of record.

He then proceeded to rummage through his suitcases for a pair of pyjamas and his moisturizing supplies, which turned out to be a surprisingly difficult venture due to the sheer volume _stuff _that he'd brought. As he pulled things out and tried to get organized, he found himself absentmindedly singing under his breath.

_Something has changed within me,_

_Something is not the same,_

_I'm through with playing by the rules of someone else's game..._

Unbeknownst to the singer, on the other side of the door, Blaine Anderson had frozen with his hand on the doorknob to his own bedroom. Silently, like a perfect statue, he strained to hear the melody, marvelling at the smoothness of the voice, the perfect pitch...

Slowly, a smile began to creep across his face.

* * *

**A/N:** Hi, and welcome to _Manhattan Skies_! First things first: Let's not concern ourselves with whether or not the underlying concept of this story is actually realistic... I do not claim to be any sort of expert on the FBI or the Witness Protection Program or anything like that. I just thought it would make for an interesting plot, so here we are. I hope I can do at least a partially-decent job of pulling it off.

As I'm sure you have gathered, the story is an AU. It will centre around Kurt and Blaine and life in New York, as well as several original characters who you have yet to meet. Currently, it is plotted out as having twenty-two chapters—my little attempt to mirror a season of Glee. I don't know how often updates will be (life of a university student - need I say more?) but I will try my best to keep them frequent.

I really hope someone out there can get some enjoyment out of what I write. :) If you want to leave a review telling me your thoughts or criticisms, I would love that. Otherwise, just enjoy!

**Next time: Kurt experiences his first day at Dalton Academy and all the insanity and drama that goes with it. Blaine and his fellow Warblers are scheming to recruit new members in hopes of bumping their numbers up for Sectionals, and Kurt just may be their newest target. **


	2. Headfirst into the Fire

**I do not own Glee. I do, however, enjoy playing around in its brilliant universe every now and then.**

**IMPORTANT! Another quick note: What would a Glee fanfic be without songs? Yes, there are a couple in this chapter. I have inserted links where they pop up, and I would highly recommend listening as you read - it makes it way more fun! Simply remove the spaces in the URLs and you're good to go. (If it begins with 'watch', just add the youtube URL at the beginning, or Google it. The video should come up in the results). I do apologize if people find this annoying or feel as though it disrupts the story. It's just something I thought would add another interesting dimension to the writing. If you have a better solution for me, please let me know.**

**Whew, enjoy.**

* * *

**Chapter Two**

**"Headfirst into the Fire"**

* * *

(_Heat_)

_Well... shit._

This shining display of eloquence was Kurt's first coherent thought after stumbling out of bed the next morning. On the other side of the curtains, the sky was grey and thick, pulsing with haziness and city noises that echoed faintly through the dead silent interior. Kurt had just opened his door, arms full of skincare and hair products, only to nearly lose his grip on the whole armful as he came face to face with Blaine.

Or rather, face to attractive shirtless torso.

Blaine, who had simultaneously emerged from his own room across the hallway, was wearing nothing but a pair of pyjama pants. His dark curls were mussed up and unstyled, his eyes bleary as he stifled a yawn. Kurt tried to pull his own eyes away from that tanned stomach and those smooth, bare arms... with little to no success.

"Oh, morning," Blaine croaked, offering a lazy smile.

Kurt's mind was still otherwise occupied. "Morning," he breathed.

"Sleep well?"

"... Surprisingly, yes."

Blaine's eyes flicked down and noticed Kurt's toiletries. "The bathroom at the end of the hall's all yours."

"Oh, yeah, is that alright? Do you—?"

"S'fine, I'm commandeering Chase's ensuite."

Kurt nodded, searching his idiotically blank mind for some sort of reply. "Okay, well... see you later," he finally said.

As Blaine walked in the other direction, Kurt couldn't help but stand and admire his retreating bare back for a moment. Then, as though waking from a delirium, he turned abruptly and hurried to the end of the hallway, promptly locking himself in the luxurious sanctuary of the bathroom and dumping his things onto the counter.

With an exhale, he fell back against the door and clenched his eyes shut.

(_Interlude_)

**Blanderson:** _...I may have found us a new warbler_

**Luke-Skywalker: **_Dude! YES!_

**DavidT: **_For real this time?_

**Blanderson: **_i resent your mockery, david. and why isn't wes responding? is he ever without his blackberry?_

**DavidT: **_Something weird's going on with him. He hasn't answered any of my bbms._

**Jeff: **_blaine, are you going to tell us who you're actually talking about_?

**Nick: **A_greed, who is this mystery man?_

**Blanderson: **_the guy i was telling you about - the one who's staying with us. Kurt._

**ThadtheRad: **_you sound a bit smitten, blaine. what's he like? ...attractive? ;)_

**DavidT: **_Thad, no matter how many times I see your bbm name, it never stops being lame._

**Blanderson: **_where did you get "smitten" from? all i did was type out his name_

**ThadtheRad: **_ignoring you, david. sure blaine, sure. so... is he? ;) ;)_

**DavidT: **_Sometimes I truly doubt your sexuality, Oh Rad One_

**Blanderson: **_merely stating the facts here, but yes, he is._

_attractive, that is._

_... I am not smitten._

(_Dalton_)

Dalton Academy was a sight to behold.

Rising up against the backdrop of Central Park, it was a noble structure of stone and wrought iron, with meticulously maintained grounds hiding behind an imposing gated entryway. The front green was swarming with boys in blazers, many of whom carried designer bags that Kurt's keen eye was able to pick out as being worth a small fortune. He even spotted the Fendi he'd lamented to Mercedes weeks ago that he would never, ever, _ever_be able to afford casually draped over the shoulder of some dark-haired schoolboy.

Despite being slightly intimidating, the institution gave Kurt a strange sense of exhilaration. It was exactly the type of place he had dreamed about while navigating McKinley's slushie-stained, jock-infested hallways. Indeed, instead of sweat-scented and depressing, the halls here were high-ceilinged and elaborate, flanked by fancy windows and ancient-looking trophy cabinets. There was not a single slushie in sight.

"So, what've you got first?" Blaine asked as they left the administration office together.

Glancing up from the freshly printed schedule in his hand, Kurt looked sideways at him. It was difficult to believe that this Blaine, with his perfectly fitted blazer and smooth, styled hair was the same boy who had been a crumpled-yet-adorable mess this morning. Kurt reddened a little at the memory, and cleared his throat. "Music, with... Ms. Harburn."

"Hey, we're together, then." Blaine looked relieved. "That's good. You won't have to go... headfirst into the fire all by yourself, so to speak."

Kurt fixed him with an apprehensive expression. "Am I supposed to find that reassuring?"

Unfortunately, he never got an answer, because a boy came jogging up beside Blaine at that moment, tie flying over his shoulder in his haste. He was African-American, with closely cropped hair and classically good-looking features which were currently pulled into an expression of concern. "Blaine," he panted, "have you seen Wes?"

"No," Blaine raised his eyebrows, "did you check the study commons?"

"Of course. He wasn't there—something is clearly wrong."

"I'm sure he's fine. David, this is..." He lifted his hand to gesture toward Kurt.

"I gotta go. Something's up, I know it..." And he was off in an instant, jogging ahead of them and disappearing around the corner.

Blaine and Kurt stared as he ran away. "That was David," Blaine told Kurt. "Sorry, he's usually more... personable."

No sooner had he finished speaking when another voice sounded from behind. "Hey Blaine, hey... Not Blaine." A lanky teen with thick lips, a slightly upturned nose and a flop of overgrown brown curls burst in between them, throwing his arms around their shoulders. Kurt's face was the very epitome of shock as he shrunk away.

Blaine shrugged the arm off of his back and said in a slow, exasperated manner: "Kurt, this is Luke."

"Hey, man. Yo, Beast it." Without pausing, Luke initiated a fluid sequence of gestures comprising a strange sort of handshake. It started off with an E.T. finger touch and moved into a series of complicated fist bumps, finally culminating in a loud: 'What up? And... _break_".

Kurt, who had made some vague attempt at mimicking the movements but for the most part had remained totally stunned, now stared at the boy as though questioning his sanity.

"Lucas, please," Blaine deadpanned, "you need to stop acting like a maniac around people who don't understand that you're actually harmless." He turned to Kurt apologetically. "He has a thing for handshakes," he explained. "And generally behaving like a lunatic. You get used to it."

"You just met The Beast," Luke informed him in an enthusiastic tone that sounded as though it belonged in a 90s hot wheels commercial.

"...Oh yeah, and he names them, too."

Kurt raised his eyebrows, but spared a laugh. "Strangely enough, you kind of remind me of some people from back home."

"Where are you from?"

"Uh..." Kurt glanced over at Blaine, unsure of how to respond. "...It's a long story," he finally said lamely.

Blaine cleared his throat. "Music's in the east wing," he said. "We should head over—it's a pretty long walk."

And so the three of them made their way through the corridors, exchanging small talk along the way. They had been walking for about five minutes when they rounded a corner and came upon a darkened stretch of hallway. It was deserted except for one person—a very tall male with sandy brown hair and an impish expression on his handsome face. In the background, a melancholic piano piece floated on the air.

The stranger grinned. "Hello Hobbit, Pukas."

Blaine glared. "Sebastian."

Slowly, he stepped toward them and make a show of examining Kurt. "Hmmm, so this is the new guy. Damn, he's like a pretty woodland creature..."

"What are you doing in the music wing?" Blaine snapped. "You know you're not supposed to be here."

"Calm your tits, Blaine. I just wanted to see your new houseguest for myself."

"What?" Blaine looked baffled and annoyed. "How did you even—?"

"You know a magician never reveals his secrets." Sebastian smiled a shrewd, dry grin. "Anyway, I'll let you guys carry on. Give Harburn my best, would you?" With a sarcastic smirk, he left them standing in an awkward, vaguely triangular formation.

"_'A magician never reveals his secrets'_?" Luke mouthed silently, making a face.

"Who was that?" Kurt asked.

Blaine grimaced. "Sebastian Smythe."

"Otherwise known as The Asshole to Rule All Assholes," Luke elaborated. "He used to be in show choir with us."

"Used to?"

"He was expelled."

Kurt let out a little sound of disbelief at the idea of someone being expelled from a show choir group. "What did he _do_?"

Blaine hesitated. "It's... a long story."

As it turned out, the classroom was just on the other side of the hallway. It was a spacious room with a random spattering of desks amidst a sea of musical instruments and sheet music stands. The teacher did not seem to have arrived yet, and only a small handful of the desks were actually occupied. The source of the sombre melody became clear when Kurt noted a handsome, dark skinned boy sitting behind the grand piano by the blackboard, fingers skimming the keys with amazing prowess.

"Jamie, you're making me suicidal," Luke complained as he dropped his bag carelessly to the ground and flopped into a chair behind a desk. "Don't we have a rule against depressing music this early in the morning?"

With an irritated clink of the keys, the boy stopped playing and looked up. His eyes were the colour of celery, Kurt noted, and they stood out with haunting intensity against the tan colour of his skin and his curly dark hair. With the sharp angle of his jaw and his muscular frame, he looked like a mixed-race model.

"It's Mozart, you idiot," he said in a flat tone.

"Ah yes," Luke adopted a posh, old-mannish accent, "his _Symphony of Apocalyptic Despair_. I say, what a fine piece of music."

"Apocalyptic Despair?" a boy with Mediterranean colouring and a dimpled chin repeated, looking perplexed. "Is that one of his late symphonies?"

Jamie clapped a hand dully to his forehead. "No, Thad. No it isn't."

Blaine cleared his throat. "Everyone, this is Kurt." He put his warm hands on either one of his shoulders from behind, and the action took Kurt completely by surprise. He managed a weak wave. "And Kurt, this is Jamie..." Blaine gestured to the boy behind the piano, "...Thad..." the one with the chin indent, "...Trent, Nick and Jeff." He rattled off the names of the three remaining students, who were sitting together in a line and gave him identical grins. Oddly, Kurt couldn't help but feel as though there was some sort of hidden knowledge behind their expressions.

As he sat down next to Blaine, a thought that had been niggling at his subconscious came to the surface. "So, hang on... you're really in show choir?"

"Yep, we all are, actually." Blaine gestured to everyone in the room. "The Dalton Academy Warblers."

"No way."

"What?"

"Nothing, just... I did show choir back at my old school."

"Oh, _really_?" Blaine and Luke exchanged a glance, while Jamie raised his eyebrows and the three Warblers in the back row smirked knowingly.

"Yeah—"

At this moment, a slim middle-aged woman in a pencil skirt and blouse strode into the room, heels clicking against the wooden floor. She looked... flustered; there was no other way of putting it. Her bun was coming out of its clip, her arms stuffed full of haphazard sheets of paper, which she dumped carelessly onto her desk. "Sorry I'm late," she muttered, not looking up as she sorted through the scattered documents, searching for something. After several seconds of this fruitless hunt, she seemed to give up. "Alight, so..." She looked up and caught Kurt's eye. "... Who are you?" Blankly, she stared.

"I'm new..." Kurt prompted with a dubious expression. "...Kurt Hummel?"

She glanced down at her papers and shuffled through them as though hoping to find some sort of a clue explaining his existence. "I didn't realize... actually, come to think of it, maybe Jonathan did say something about... " She trailed off. "I'm going to have get some more worksheets and find you a textbook... I'll be back." Still mumbling, she left the room in the same disorganized whirlwind she had entered in.

"And... welcome to Ms. Harburn's class," Blaine commented wryly.

"...if you can even call it that," Trent, a round-faced boy with dark hair and a cheerful smile, added.

Luke shrugged. "At least she actually showed up today. Small victories, guys."

"Bets on when she'll be back?" Thad looked around keenly.

"Well," Nick said, squinting his dark brown eyes in thought, "factoring in the time for her to find the textbook..."

"...photocopy the wrong sheets..." Jeff ruffled his blonde hair with a grin.

"...get all the way back here and then realize she made a mistake..."

"...and then repeat the whole process..."

"...I'd say about half an hour," they finished together.

As Kurt laughed, he glanced around at the seven other people in the room, noting the bulk of empty desks. "So, are all your classes this... microscopic?"

"No." Blaine shook his head. "Music's just not so popular anymore. They had to combine classes; Thad's actually a senior. And there are more of us—Well... three more. Griffin's just perpetually late—"

"I thought Dean Volkwyn gave him a warning," Jeff cut in. He glanced over at Jamie, who had moved from the piano bench to a desk on the far side of the room. "Isn't he on probation or something?"

The boy, who had been staring out the window with a broody expression, turned his head. "Why would I know?" he snapped. There was a subdued fire in his pale eyes.

"Jamie, man, what is up with you lately?" Luke asked.

Bitterly, Jamie narrowed his eyes, and then he grumbled, "Can we move onto the absences that are actually surprising here? Where the hell are Wes and David?"

Trent frowned. "Yeah, where _are _those nutcases?"

"All I know," Luke said very seriously, "is that if they're cutting class, it must mean that universal implosion will be commencing any minute."

Nick shook his head. "The sad thing is, that's barely a joke."

"Really?" Kurt stared at him in disbelief.

"I'm pretty sure the last time Wes missed a class was in kindergarten, and he's _still _lamenting it." His face morphed into a grimace. "And I think we all remember that time David had to be escorted off of campus last year..."

Everyone winced, while Kurt arched an eyebrow.

"Do I want to know?"

"Severe pneumonia," Blaine told him. "He wouldn't go home, even when he basically fell into a coma on top of his calculus exam. Rumour has it he was still deliriously calculating antiderivatives in the ambulance."

"Oh my god."

"Yeah."

The door creaked open suddenly, and all heads in the room shot towards the newcomer. It was a thin boy with jet black hair and fair skin who shuffled lazily into the classroom and dropped into the seat next to Jamie. His blazer looked as though it could use a good iron, and Kurt fidgeted a little at the fashion tragedy.

"Only fifteen minutes late, Griff. That's got to be some sort of record," Luke commented. "Beast it!" With unparalleled enthusiasm, he leaned over and put up his hand.

Griffin glanced disinterestedly at the handshake initiation, but otherwise failed to cooperate. "What happened to Fury, or whatever it was called?"

"It was getting old." Unfazed by the rejection, Luke lowered his hand. "The Beast is taking over."

"That name makes me a lot more scared than I should logically be of a handshake," Jeff said.

Nick snorted. "Seriously Luke, where do you come up with these things?"

"It's a gift."

"Or a curse..."

"Did anyone bring a pen?" Griffin queried, rifling through his bag.

Jeff smirked. "Yes, Griff, generally that is something that people do when they come to class."

"Smart ass. Can I _borrow _a pen?"

Cheerfullly, the blonde threw one at his head.

"Jeez!" Griffin ducked just in time, and the ballpoint landed right underneath Jamie's chair. Lifting his head, Griffin moved as though to pick it up, and then hesitated.

With an unreadable expression, Jamie bent down and retrieved it, setting it on Griffin's desk without speaking.

"So, what's the excuse this morning?" Thad asked Griffin.

The pale boy shrugged. "I had to finish inking page three of the new issue of _Refuge_. Plus, my sister took my metro card."

Luke's head swivelled at the word 'sister', and he grinned roguishly. "How _is_ Shiloh doing?"

Griffin made a face of disgust. "You are a creeper, Lucas, seriously."

Breathlessly, he sighed. "I can't help that I'm in love."

"So we hear..."

Outside the door, there was a sound that sounded like a distraught moan, and then a murmur that was something along the lines of, "... Come _on_, Wes. I'm serious." David burst through the doorway, dragging a disgruntled-looking Asian boy with neatly styled hair behind him.

"Where's Ms. H?" was David's greeting. His hand was still bunched around Wes' jacket sleeve as his eyes scanned the classroom.

"Hunting down new textbooks and stuff. Where have you two _been_?"

David sighed and released his prisoner, who sank down miserably behind a desk and put his head in his hands. "I found him by the fountain. I'm pretty sure he was trying to drown himself."

Wes looked miserable. "I'm an idiot," he moaned to nobody in particular.

"What happened?" Blaine asked, some measure of concern in his eyes. Kurt sat silent, feeling a little bit on the outside of this tight-knit circle, but using his observational skills to their highest power.

"We had a fight."

"You and Amy?" Luke raised his eyebrows. "Did she finally realize that she was way out of your league?

"No..." Wes shook his head impatiently, irritatedly; the joke was completely lost on him. "She wanted to go to out for dinner last night while I was studying for Calc, and I told her I couldn't, but then we somehow ended up having this huge blowout, and she apparently left with the idea that I think school is more important than her. Which I _don't_," he added at the looks of scepticism he was getting. "And then this morning... she called me this morning and told me it was over."

A terse pause, and then: "You _are _an idiot," Luke agreed.

"I know!" Wes wailed, dropping his forehead down onto his desk with a dull _thunk._

Blaine looked thoughtful. "You can't just... give up. You need some sort of a grand gesture, like..."

"Oh, here we go again," Griffin muttered.

"...like a song!"

"Blaine, that is always your suggestion. How many times has it actually worked?"

The dark-haired boy crossed his arms. "Well _I _for one, would _love _to be serenaded. I think it's romantic." The way he said this made Kurt stare at his profile for a few seconds too long.

"I agree with Blaine," Thad said immediately.

Jamie rolled his eyes. "That's because you agree with _everything _Blaine says."

"I do not..."

"Wait." Wes lifted his head. "I'll seriously try anything right now... but... would you guys help me out?"

"Of course!" Thad narrowed his eyes into an intrepid squint. "We are the Brotherhood of the Canary, after all. Bros of the songbird. The knights of the round—"

"Thad, just say yes," David deadpanned.

"Alright, alright, I'm back." Ms. Harburn flew back into the classroom, putting an abrupt end to the conversation. "Sorry about that." She extracted a heavy-looking textbook from her armful of paper and handed it to Kurt. "There you go. Now did you take music last year, or...?"

"Yes," Kurt nodded. "Every year since I was a freshman."

"Oh, fantastic. Do you play any instruments?"

"No... but I sing. I did Glee club at my old school."

Ms Harburn's eyes went very wide. "_Really_?" she asked interestedly, and Kurt was beginning to get a powerful sense of déjà-vu. "You know, we have a show choir group here..."

"Time out!" David called abruptly, and there was a rush of chair legs against wood as everybody except Wes, Blaine, Griffin and Jamie stood up to ambush their teacher.

"We're down to ten, Mrs. H, and Sectionals is coming up."

"I'm aware, Thaddeus."

"So... he's perfect!"

"But can he actually sing?"

"You heard him, David, he did show choir."

"That doesn't really prove anything."

Kurt raised his hand. "You realize I can hear everything you're saying, right?"

At this, Blaine leaned over to speak to him in a low voice. "The Warblers are a little desperate for members," he explained, and Kurt turned his head minutely to the side, as though afraid to go any further for the knowledge of how close their faces were. "Ever since the whole Sebastian incident, we haven't exactly had people lining up to join us."

"We need at least two more people before sectionals," Luke threw in, overhearing the exchange. "Or else we can't compete."

As Blaine moved away, Kurt felt the eyes of everyone in the room on him. "So you want... me?"

"Not want, dude, _need_."

"Well... I guess I could lend my superior vocal skills then."

"How would you feel about singing us a little something right now?" Ms. Harburn asked, looking at him eagerly.

"...Now?"

"Sure, just think of it as an impromptu audition."

It was a test. Kurt felt some uneasiness at the thought of getting up and performing in front of all these people he barely knew—in front of _Blaine_—but in the end, his inner diva won out. Head held high, he rose from his chair and strutted to the front of the classroom. After a quick conversation with Ms. Harburn, who had taken a seat behind the piano, he turned back to face the class. Nine pairs of eager eyes looked back at him, and he cleared his throat.

Gently, the music teacher's fingers played a soft introduction, and Kurt took a breath.

**youtu . be / pc45vBOGLZs**_  
There's a song that's inside of my soul  
It's the one that I've tried to write over and over again  
I'm awake in the infinite cold  
But you sing to me over and over and over again_

It was a subtle performance—lacking in the usual Kurt Hummel theatricality, perhaps—but his voice was soft and stirring, and it lent an emotional power to the piece. Slowly, he took a step forward.

_So I lay my head back down  
And I lift my hands  
And pray to be only yours  
I pray to be only yours  
I know now you're my only hope_

As Kurt glanced up and saw the impressed expressions on the faces of his audience, his confidence grew. He fell into the next verse with relaxed ease.

_Sing to me the song of the stars  
Of your galaxy dancing and laughing  
and laughing again  
When it feels like my dreams are so far  
Sing to me of the plans that you have for me over again_

_So I lay my head back down  
And I lift my hands and pray  
To be only yours  
I pray to be only yours  
I know now you're my only hope_

In the audience, the Warblers were exchanging looks of extreme appraisal and varying levels of excitement. But it was Blaine who Kurt's eyes found as they wandered. Their gazes connected for a long moment, as Kurt continued to sing, and Blaine watched and listened with wide eyes, as though he was seeing him for the first time.

_I give you my destiny  
I'm giving you all of me  
I want your symphony  
Singing in all that I am  
At the top of my lungs I'm giving it back_

_So I lay my head back down_  
_And I lift my hands and pray_  
_To be only yours_  
_I pray to be only yours_  
_I pray to be only yours_  
_I know now you're my only hope_

When his voice at last faded out, there was an extended period of stunned silence. Then, a cacophony of applause broke out.

"Recruit that boy _right now," _David commanded, pounding a hand onto his desk. Then, he glanced to his right and made a sound of disbelief. "Thad... are you _crying_?"

"... There's something in my eye."

"Really impressive, Mr. Holden," Ms. Harburn enthused. "And a countertenor to boot! Er... Welcome to the Warblers!"

Beaming, Kurt took a bow and returned to his desk. He noticed that Blaine was still staring intently at him with wide eyes and a dumbfounded expression, and raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"That was... incredible, Kurt." Blaine seemed to be snapping out of it, though he still looked a little unfocused. "_You're_... incredible." And then, shaking his head slightly, he turned back to face the front of the classroom.

Kurt stared at the side of his head with a strange feeling rising in his chest. His grin did not fade for a very long time.

(_Tell Me_)

"Beast to Captain D, Beast to Captain D, we are locked and loaded. I repeat, we are locked and loaded. Mission Canary is a go, over."

Darkly, David glanced to the side. "Luke, you are not even holding a walkie-talkie. There is, in fact, not a single walkie-talkie on the premises. This is not _Agent Cody Banks_!"

"...You didn't say over."

"Ugh, just... stay here until you get my signal."

"Copy that, Captain."

The entire Warbler troupe was crouched down in the thicket of neatly-trimmed bushes outside of Dalton's main entrance. It was lunchtime, though Kurt had quickly learned that no lunch was actually eaten at this hour if there were more important things to take care of.

Today, apparently, there were.

Blaine had reunited with him after his history class to inform him that the Warblers were headed over to the neighbouring school, Signet Christian College, to help Wes win his girlfriend back. Knowing nobody else on campus and not wanting to be left to fend for himself in the cafeteria, Kurt had agreed to come along for the ride (though the prospect of spending more time with Blaine wasn't altogether terrible either).

And so that was how he found himself squatting behind a prickly shrub with his shoulder pressed up against Blaine's and a sharp branch jabbing his spine, waiting for a signal from David that the coast was clear. He made a small hissing noise as he shifted and a thorn pricked his hand; Kurt was not exactly having the time of his life in the dirty soil. He glanced down and noticed that his sleeve was covered in burs, and then proceeded to swipe them off in annoyance.

Blaine made note of his fidgeting and laughed quietly. In the shadows, his eyes almost sparkled. "You've got one in your hair," he said in a low voice, "hold still." Kurt didn't need to be told to do so; the moment Blaine's arm shot out to remove it, his entire body seemed to freeze of its own accord. Blaine just grinned and chucked the offending seed husk away. "There you go."

"Thanks," Kurt murmured. "Um... Is there any particular reason we're crouching in the school's greenscaping?"

"Technically we're not allowed on Signet grounds during school hours," Blaine explained. "It's not really a hugely enforced rule. Luke and Thad just like to take every possible opportunity to 'develop their ninja skills'."

"Ah." Kurt peered over the edge of the bush to see David standing by the gate, scanning the area intently. After a few seconds of this, he gave a subtle wave to Luke.

"Okay, we are a go! Everyone follow me!" With a sort of barrel roll, the lanky brunette emerged from the bush and paused to look around. Then, he made a mad dash for the arched gateway, promptly flinging himself around the corner. Seconds later, his hand emerged from behind the gate's pedestal, motioning the next group forward.

In a complete contrast to the stunt show that had just occurred, Jamie and Griffin casually strolled over from where they had been standing, walking towards the exit at a leisurely, unconcerned pace. Everyone followed suit, except for Thad, who stayed in the bushes until the very last minute and then leaped out, attempting a roll but losing momentum and failing. Hastily, he scrambled to his feet and ran for it.

"Are we all accounted for?" he asked breathlessly as he arrived at the gateway. At David's sign of accord, he checked his watch. "Okay, we have exactly... sixteen-point-five minutes to do this."

Signet was literally right next door. It was a white-fronted building with swirling topiary and a fountain rising up in front. A swan statue floated majestically in its sparkling depths, and girls in plaid skirts and blouses milled about on the grass behind the twirling bars of the fence.

"I can't do this," Wes moaned, looking in through the gateway. "What if she still hates me?"

"You'll never know if you don't try," Blaine reasoned.

The boy's response sounded something like "Eurghhh".

David led the way to the rear entrance, which was much quieter—in fact, it seemed to be entirely void of activity. They filed in cautiously until everyone was standing with their backs pressed along the stone wall.

"Infiltration accomplished!" Luke held his hand up to Jamie. "Beast i—"

"No."

"Shhh," David shushed them loudly. He was punching buttons on his phone. "I'm calling Juliet."

"Sorry, _Romeo_."

"Oh, Luke, you make me laugh." He made a face as he stuck the phone up to his ear. "... Juliet? It's me. Hey. No, we're at the back entrance. Can you—? Awesome. See you soon." He stowed his phone back in his pocket. "She's with Amy. She's luring her over as we speak."

For a moment, there was silence, and then Nick spoke. "So, Kurt, how's your first day going?" he asked, as though they were casually walking down the street and not hiding behind a stone wall like fugitives.

Kurt's eyebrows rose a notch. "I just broke into an all-girls school to sing a song to someone I've never met," he responded. "I don't even know how to answer that question."

"Sounds like a pretty sweet first day to me," Luke reasoned.

Muffled sounds of female conversation floated over to their location, and everyone immediately went silent.

"..._Where are we even going?"_

"_Just trust me, Ames..."_

"That's them!" David hissed. "Places everyone—get ready."

As the rest of the Warblers scrambled to get into position, Wes remained glued to the spot.

"This is it, man. Come on." David gave him a firm whack on the shoulder just as a pair of girls came around the corner. One was an athletically-built redhead with features that were vaguely elfin, while the other was shorter with a long, blonde braid that fell all the way down to her lower back.

"3...2...1..." David counted them in quietly, "..._Go!_"

Wes took a deep breath, and then stepped out from behind the wall, singing in a clear, smooth voice:

**watch?=CNNzK-TFdQU**_  
They said love hurts  
I wrote that book  
I climbed that wall  
I had one look  
But you just came around, to say hello_

The blonde's jaw dropped about a foot, while the redhead smiled in satisfaction. As the next verse began, Wes continued walking forward, and the rest of the Warblers picked up the backing vocals, harmonizing a perfect acapella melody as they emerged in two lines from behind the wall.

_The streets were filled with guilty hearts  
And here was I right from the start  
And I lost everything  
When I lost you_

The Warblers were crowded around behind Wes now, moving faintly in time to the beat. Wes seemed to have become more comfortable in himself, and he was singing his heart out. The blonde still looked utterly shocked as her friend exchanged a wink with David and danced happily to the music.

_So tell me why  
Should I let you go  
Give me twenty good reasons  
I need to know  
Yeah_

Wes jumped up on the side of a concrete planter, holding onto the tree in its centre as he sang. The rest of the Warblers began to disperse, and Kurt found himself skipping around to the far side of the space and singing in a trio with Blaine and Luke (the latter of whom was crazy-dancing in a manner that did not suit the song at all).

_And at the point  
There was no pain  
There was no sky  
There was no rain fall  
All there was was you and your sweet face_

Looking her right in the eye as he sang, Wes pointed towards the girl, who was still standing stiffly, hands clenched around the strap of her leather bag.

_But life is life  
And things will change  
Like scenes upon an actor's stage  
Tomorrow comes today for all we know_

He hopped down from the planter and began walking toward her, slowly and in time with the lyrics.

_So tell me why  
Should I let you go  
Give me twenty good reasons  
I need to know  
Yeah_

Stopping right in front of her, he sang passionately:

_Give me twenty good reasons  
Give me twenty good reasons  
Give me twenty good reasons_

The Warblers' backup vocals faded out, and Wes took a deep breath, singing the last line in a sincere, soft tone.

_To let you go_.

There was silence. The singers had frozen in their various positions around the courtyard as Wes stood uneasily, awaiting the girl's reaction.

"Damn it, Wes," she finally hissed with a faint Southern twang. Her face looked like a perfect combination of exasperation and contentment. "I'm trying to be mad at you here. You're making it very difficult."

"Good. I mean, you have every right to be mad at me," he added hastily. "I just... I mean it, Amy. I... I love you."

By the wall, Luke wiped an imaginary tear from his face.

Instead of replying, Amy rolled her eyes and launched herself into his arms. "I love you too, you idiot," she said with a sigh.

Casually, David took a few steps toward the redhead and exchanged a high-five with her. Both of them were wearing expressions of very sly satisfaction.

"Uhh, I hate to break up this beautiful moment," Thad spoke with a sort of anxiety in his eyes, "but lunch is over in two minutes."

"Shit!" David exclaimed. "I'm supposed to be presenting at the assembly!"

"To the base!" Luke shouted, pointing valiantly toward the exit and then taking off at a run. Kurt wasted no time in following suit; the last thing he wanted was to be the new kid walking in late to class. It must have looked slightly ridiculous to people passing by—like eleven boys training for some sort of marathon in blazers and dress shoes.

"I would just like to point out," Blaine panted as they jogged down the sidewalk, "that the serenading tactic clearly works."

"Time for gloating later, Blaine, now move your feet!" David snapped. "If I'm late, Volkwyn'll have my head." He glanced at Wes, who was jogging beside him. "The things I do for you, man..."

They raced through the Dalton gate, making a beeline for the double-doors of the school as though they were the finish line of an Olympic sprint.

"Made it!" Luke exclaimed as they stumbled into the marble foyer. Just as the words left his mouth, Thad tripped over the threshold and went crashing to the floor. It was like dominoes. Blaine, despite his best efforts, could not avoid the boy's fallen body at the speed at which he was running, and went tumbling to the ground with an _oof_. Before Kurt knew what was happening, he had landed on top of Blaine, and someone else was falling onto his back. He heard Blaine let out a little noise of pain beneath him, and glanced down to see that their faces were inches apart. Eyes wide, he attempted to shift, but he was pinned, and the two of them ended up staring straight into each other's eyes. The intimacy of their proximity made a shiver pass through Kurt's body.

Then, the door opened suddenly, and Jamie hissed in pain as it smacked against his heel.

"What in the _world_?" A female teacher stared down at the heap of bodies with bulging eyes.

A moment of dead silence.

And then a snorting, hysterical laughing fit erupted from the floor.

* * *

**A/N:** I hope you all enjoyed the second installment. I apologize if this chapter was a little confusing and/or boring—I realized that I had a LOT of setting up to do. On that same note, I know there were like a zillion characters introduced—I'm hoping that it wasn't too insane since we already know most of them from Glee.

Anyway, leave a review if you so desire and I'll see you next time. :)

**Next time: There are definitely some dark skeletons lurking in the Warblers' choir room. Halloween brings the annual Signet-Dalton scavenger hunt, and we all know that letting this bunch loose in Central Park at night can only lead to disaster. Not to mention, Sebastian seems to be taking a sinister sort of interest in Kurt, much to Blaine's dismay.**


	3. Scavenging

******I do not own Glee. I do, however, enjoy playing around in its brilliant universe every now and then.**

* * *

**Chapter Three**

**"Scavenging"**

* * *

(_The Question Game_)

"Hungry?" Blaine asked as he shrugged his satchel off of his shoulder and closed the heavy mahogany door behind him.

Kurt dumped his bag next to Blaine's and allowed his eyes to wander around the foyer area of the Anderson residence again. He still wasn't used to this kind of opulence—every time he saw it, the wonder began anew. "A little," he said, and then his stomach let out a monstrous growl. Blaine raised his brows and grinned, and Kurt reddened. "Alright, a lot. I'm not accustomed to skipping lunch in favour of serenades."

Kurt's first day had been a strange whirlwind of an experience. His classes themselves all seemed to be fairly run-of-the-mill, but everything else was like a kick to the head—one that was more disorienting than painful. He and Blaine had stayed after school for Warbler practice, and Kurt had been surprised at how vastly different it had been to Glee Club meetings at McKinley. It was as though he was in some strange land of opposites, he had decided. Ms. Harburn had none of Mr. Schuester's unconquerable enthusiasm, often zoning out or doing paperwork during practice. The Warbler boys, on the other hand, were a surprisingly eager, musical and tight-knit bunch. Their love for singing was a welcome contrast to the couldn't-care-less attitude that hung over the heads of half of the members of New Directions. It was hugely refreshing.

Kurt had just started to follow Blaine into the kitchen when there was a heavy sound of footsteps descending a staircase. "Blaine?" Evelyn, hurrying to secure a bracelet to her wrist, skidded to a halt on the landing. "Your father and I are going out to dinner with the Pavlichs." She smoothed down her silky blouse and rifled through her clutch purse for something. "Here..." She dropped a wad of cash into her son's hand. "Get yourselves something to eat. We'll be home late."

All of this was said in a matter of seconds, and Blaine stood still as she pecked his cheek hastily and then offered a tiny wave of acknowledgement to Kurt. The staircase creaked again and Paul appeared, loping lazily down the steps as he finished adjusting his tie. "All set?" he asked his wife. Then, his eyes flicked up and found Blaine and Kurt where they were standing side by side. Something in his jaw tightened. "Blaine," he said shortly, "why don't you head over to the gym tonight? I'm sure Kurt will by fine by himself. He needs some time to adjust." The words were spoken as though Kurt were elsewhere, and not standing right in the centre of the conversation.

Blaine swallowed. There was a hard look in his eyes. "No thanks," he replied, his gaze unfaltering.

Paul stared back, and there were a few highly charged seconds of silence. Finally, Evelyn pulled lightly on her husband's crisp sleeve. "Come on, we'll be late," she said. "Have a good night, boys."

As they exited the house, Kurt felt a tiny sliver of disappointment pierce his skin. Part of him had been hoping that maybe Paul would help him to contact Burt tonight. He was already missing his dad like crazy, and although he didn't want to push the issue, he had been hanging onto the hope that he would get a Skype call at some point in the near future.

"God, I'm sorry about my dad," Blaine muttered as they finally made it into the kitchen.

"Hey, no, it's fine."

"No, it's not. If he has a problem with you and me being alone in the house together, he should just say it."

Kurt blushed at this, coming to a halt by the counter while Blaine dug through a drawer on the other side.

"Sometimes his stupidity just blows me away," Blaine continued darkly as he extracted a little, worn notebook and shoved the drawer shut a little more harshly than was necessary. He adopted a deep, mocking voice. "Oh no, I can't leave my gay son alone with another guy... Clearly, they're going to ravish each other. I know! I'll send him to pump some iron in the gym instead." He snorted and shook his head.

Kurt, who felt something warm coil in his stomach at the word 'ravish' and the look of Blaine's straining bicep beneath his thin Dalton shirt, managed a weak shrug.

"Ugh, sorry," Blaine looked up apologetically through a thick haze of eyelashes. "I don't know why I'm forcing this on you. He just... really pisses me off. Food?" He held up the notebook with a sheepish expression.

"Sure," said Kurt, vaguely wondering what a spiral-bound notebook had to do with dinner.

As if reading his thoughts, Blaine explained: "It's where we keep all the take-out numbers. What do you want? Pizza, Chinese..." He leaned onto the smooth surface of the counter and flipped a page.

"Umm," Kurt deliberated. One night of excessive sodium wouldn't kill him, and besides, he hadn't eaten anything since breakfast. "... Whatever you want. I don't mind."

"How do you feel about Baluchi's?"

Kurt looked blankly at him. "... I feel like it sounds a lot like 'blue cheese'?"

Blaine laughed. "It's Indian food. Their samosas are out of this world. As long as you don't have a problem with spicy food."

"No, sounds good," Kurt replied.

They decided on a couple of dishes and Blaine phoned the order in while Kurt headed upstairs to change out of his uniform. He went through three different outfits before deciding on a loose-fitting Alexander McQueen sweater and a dark pair of jeans, and then spent about ten minutes in front of the mirror styling his hair to perfection. It was stupid, maybe, but there was something about Blaine that made him incredibly conscious of the way he looked—even more so than usual, if that were at all possible.

When he wandered back into the downstairs area, he came upon a very strange sight. Blaine was crouched over on the living room floor, black polo shirt riding up to reveal a strip of skin at the base of his spine, and appeared to be wrestling fiercely with something.

"Ow! _Damn it._" He sprang back and a ball of grey fur shot out from under his arms with a loud hiss, firing into the kitchen with the speed and accuracy of a missile.

As Blaine deflated visibly where he sat on the ground, Kurt coughed to announce his presence. "...Are you okay?"

The boy on the floor spun around. His hair was mussed up slightly and he had what looked like scratch marks all down his right arm. In his other hand, he was holding a small pill container. "Fine," he sighed. "Just trying to give Collins his medicine. He's... not exactly cooperating."

"I didn't even realize you had a cat."

"Probably because he hates us and likes to pretend he doesn't live here," Blaine explained darkly. Dusting off his jeans, he rose to his feet. "I'm pretty sure he has an elaborate network of secret passages in the walls or something."

For a very, very short instant, both boys stared at one another. Kurt couldn't help but let his eyes trail over the way Blaine's dark shirt hugged his thin waist, and as he felt Blaine's gaze wash over his own body, a strange thrill passed through him. Nobody had ever looked at him like that before.

In the end, the moment was so short-lived neither of them was sure it had actually happened. Blaine cleared his throat and elaborated: "Anyway, he had surgery a couple of weeks ago and he's supposed to be taking these antibiotics." His cheeks were a little pink, though that could easily have been attributed to the previous cat-wrangling exertion.

Kurt pressed his lips into a sympathetic line. "Anything I can do to help?"

It was a question he regretted ten minutes later when he and Blaine were covered in a myriad of scratches and Kurt had little tooth marks in the sleeve of his sweater that he knew he would forever lament. Collins was a crafty little thing, and his claws were as lethal as a small set of knives. He was proving to be quite the adversary.

"Okay, Plan Q... or is it R?" Blaine panted as he emerged from the kitchen holding a colander. He was wearing knee pads and a helmet, and his pocket bulged with the outline of the cat pill dispenser that was so far failing miserably at its job. "This time, after you launch the skateboard, I _immediately _set off the laundry basket trap and we use this," he brandished the colander, "to scoop him out and prevent further injury."

Kurt dropped the pillow he had been using as a shield. "Your cat is a ninja," he said bluntly. "I think we're going to need a military-level trap if we want to accomplish this before we hit the end of the Plan Alphabet."

Blaine sighed. "...Ugh, you're right," he agreed, reaching up to pull the helmet off of his head. His curls were in a state of mild disarray that was devastatingly attractive. "This is hopeless. I have no idea how my mom manag—"

" _Blaine_." Kurt froze suddenly. Barely breathing, he gestured minutely to the couch. Collins was perched on the centre cushion, looking uppity and nonchalant. He was goading them.

The moment Blaine saw this, he became similarly statue-like and his hands tightened around the colander. Moving ridiculously slowly, he began to creep around to the other side of the couch while Kurt remained poised right where he was. Hazel eyes connected with blue ones, and for a moment there was just that—a long, silent stare. Then, Blaine came to a halt behind the cat. Slowly, his hand moved for the dispenser in his pocket.

That was what did it. Collins recognized the action immediately and leapt off the sofa...

...right into Kurt's arms.

Fighting with all his might to maintain his hold on the writhing ball of fluff and claws, Kurt sunk to his knees and held the cat tightly to his chest. "I've got him, quick!" he gasped.

Blaine didn't need to be told twice. He vaulted over the couch from behind as Kurt collapsed so that his back was pressed against the side of the coffee table. Moving in, Blaine leaned over and attempted to locate Collins' mouth amidst the struggling blur. In the confusion, his shoulder ended up pressed tightly against Kurt's chest, and as he bent close to administer the medication, the top of his head brushed against his jaw. His hair smelled like vanilla and he was a hot weight pressed against Kurt's body. The contact was _almost _enough to distract Kurt from the fact that his skin—and more importantly, sweater—were probably being ripped to shreds beneath the beautiful boy in his lap.

After a lengthy struggle, there was a choking sort of noise, a disgruntled meow, a loud, triumphant "YES!" and then Blaine fell back to let Collins leap out of Kurt's embrace. With an angry noise that sounded more like a dinosaur than anything of the feline variety, the defeated cat rocketed out into the hallway.

Blaine, who was breathing heavily, rolled off of Kurt and slumped back against the coffee table beside him. For a long few seconds, the two of them sat there in silence, the weighty sound of their breath mingling in the hot air. With their hair dishevelled, clothes askew and skin glistening faintly with sweat, Kurt imagined that were Paul Anderson to walk through the door at this moment, he would probably jump to a very distinct, very incorrect conclusion.

Finally, as the heady atmosphere in the room began to clear, Kurt spoke. His voice was exhausted and toneless, and yet there was a hint of amusement beneath the surface as he deadpanned, "That had better not be a daily prescription."

The two of them glanced sideways at one another, taking in the utter ridiculousness of the situation, and burst into laughter simultaneously. As their chuckles died out, they looked down at their laps, residual grins remaining fixed to their faces.

It was, of course, at that very moment that the doorbell rang.

Blaine paid the delivery girl with his knee pads still intact while Kurt hung back and tried to reconcile the strange feelings crashing through his chest. Never before had he felt such an instant, powerful connection to another person. He was trying to think rational thoughts but his mind kept revisiting the fact that Blaine was fun and perfect and smelled like vanilla spice tea. Even with knee pads fastened awkwardly over his jeans and crazy helmet hair, he was freaking beautiful.

"Would you be opposed to eating outside?" the boy in question asked as he pushed the door shut with his foot.

"Not at all," Kurt replied, feigning casualness. "_Al fresco_ dining comes right after _Project Runway _marathons on my list of favourite things."

"I will make a note of this," Blaine tossed back with a grin.

Kurt raised a delicate eyebrow and wondered: was this flirting? It certainly felt like it, though he did have a tendency to read too much into things. This notion was replaced suddenly by another thought when he remembered where exactly they were and a fuzzy image of eating vindaloo on the curb out front surfaced in his mind. Despite their luxurious home, he doubted that the Andersons had a full backyard with a patio in the crowded metropolis that was Manhattan.

And then Blaine headed for the stairs, and Kurt's confusion doubled. He followed him up two flights of twisting mahogany and slowed behind him when they reached the end of the upper storey hallway. Blaine set the bags down on the ground and reached out to pry open the large picture window. Sunlight streamed through the glass, and as it finally budged, a light breeze floated inside.

Kurt regarded all this with a sense of dawning comprehension. "... Seriously?"

"It's totally safe," Blaine assured him. "Chase and I have been sitting out here since we were in preschool."

A distrustful squint. "Preschool, Blaine, really?"

He waved his hand. "Alright, exaggeration, but you get the point."

Kurt moved to get a closer look out the window. The roof stretched out for a few metres, slightly sloped and mildly precarious looking. "If I fall to my death, it had better be on your conscience."

The two of them stood there in the shadowy hallway, the orange strips of sunset streaking their faces and clothes. "You're safe with me, I promise," Blaine replied in a strangely low voice. His big, watery eyes were reflecting the gold of the sun, and the sight quite literally took Kurt's breath away.

Attempting to regain some oxygen flow, he said, "I request that you be the guinea pig then. If you die, I'll know not to follow."

Blaine shrugged, the very epitome of nonchalance. "Fine. But I will be the gerbil instead. I'm allergic to guinea pigs."

And with this utterly reassuring statement, he swung his leg across the windowsill and hopped over it in a fluid, clearly well-practiced motion. Kurt handed him the food and then followed at a much slower pace, making sure not to catch his sweater on the window frame.

And... wow. He was suddenly in another world. The sky was a vibrant palette of pinks and purples and reds against the silhouette of the city. Below, cars filtered past and Central Park stretched out, a splash of green amidst the grey. Horns honked, pigeons chirped and the gritty smell of New York City was all around them.

"Worth the risk?" Blaine glanced up from where he was sitting, legs pulled up in front of him, in the center of the roof.

Kurt dropped down carefully onto the shingles beside him. "Is it weird that I want to live out here?"

"Bad idea, trust me," Blaine said. "You could like... roll off the roof in your sleep. Or die of starvation." A pause. "Well, unless you could find a way to survive off of pigeons and dead leaves."

"Ew. There goes my romantic vision."

Blaine grinned and began pulling plastic containers out of the takeout bags. Despite everything, Kurt felt his stomach cry out for food. The smell was warm and spicy and absolutely mouth-watering as Blaine divided everything up, and the two of them finally ate in silence for a few minutes. In front of them, the fading sun blazed on the horizon, a strip of tangerine over the city skyline.

"Okay, how about this," Blaine said, leaning back to rest his hands on the slanted roof. "We take turns asking each other questions."

Kurt raised his eyebrows. It seemed a rather bold statement, but if there was one thing that he was learning about Blaine, it was that he was very direct. "Alright, I'm in. But I get to go first."

"Deal."

"Hmm..." He pushed his fork through his chicken tikka, considering. "Most played song on your iTunes?"

Blaine looked mildly surprised. "Interesting way to start."

"Music can tell you a lot about a person," Kurt said with a shrug.

"I agree," Blaine replied, and then pulled his face into a slight grimace. "Which is why this is painful to admit. Teenage Dream." He coughed. "I went through a Katy Pery phase and my Top 25 never quite recovered."

"Oh, god."

"Well, what's yours?"

Kurt smirked. "Does that count as your question?"

"No, I just want to know."

"It's... way too cliché. Defying Gravity, from Wicked."

"Ah, Broadway enthusiast?" Blaine's eyes flicked up from his tray of food.

"As much of an enthusiast as you can be without having actually _seen _a Broadway show."

"Really?" Blaine said, brows lifting. "Well then, we're definitely hitting the theatre district as soon as we get a chance."

He said it in such a casual way, as though it was simply a given, that Kurt found himself momentarily speechless. Whatever Blaine was, he was not in any way being forced to be Kurt's friend, or tour guide, or anything. In fact, had he been anyone else, he might have just given Kurt his food and retreated to his room, or maybe gone out with some friends. Just the simple fact that he was out here on the roof with him right now, initiating a get-to-know-you thing, was above and beyond anything that he might have expected. "Don't feel obligated," Kurt finally said. "You're probably sick of musical theatre, having lived here your whole life."

"Are you kidding, Kurt? If I could _live _in the Gershwin Theatre, I would." His conviction and huge smile were so genuine that Kurt did not doubt it for a minute. "No, I mean it. I would watch Wicked on a continuous loop until the actors died of exhaustion and starvation, at which point they would be replaced so that I could continue to cry over the tragic love of Fiyero and Elphaba."

Kurt shook his head. Who _was _this boy, and why didn't they make them in Ohio? "You're ridiculous. Ask me a question."

"Alright." There was barely a pause before: "What are you planning to do after school?"

Kurt exhaled. "Sort of a tossup between performing arts and fashion. I haven't decided. All I know for sure is that I'm moving here, to New York."

"Wow, impressively ambitious." It was said in a manner so different from the usual skepticism Kurt received with this response—as though the idea were not completely insane, but instead remarkable.

"What about you?" Kurt asked, glancing sideways at Blaine's profile. The boy's impossibly long eyelashes were coated in sunlight.

Blaine swallowed his food and then replied, "Right now, I'm thinking about music at Julliard."

"And _I'm _the ambitious one?"

"I guess it's probably a pipe dream, but hey," Blaine shrugged, "it's not a bad thing to dream big."

"Better to have big dreams than no dreams at all," Kurt echoed faintly.

"Exactly."

There was a very slight period of silence. Then, Kurt hastily said, "My turn... okay. Um. If you could have any superpower, what would it be?"

"Oh my god, so many options..." Blaine said, leaning forward excitedly. After a lengthy deliberation period: "I think I would want to have like... removable body parts. Or no, not really, but like a crazy suit of armor that I could just pull things from. Like I could pull a light saber out of my arm or turn my feet into springs and jump over things..." He laughed. "Is that a superpower?"

"I think that's called being Inspector Gadget."

Blaine laughed again; the sound was hearty and smooth. "Fine then, what's yours?"

"Definitely flight," Kurt said. "Can you imagine being able to fly? It would be amazing."

"Ah, but with my suit of epicness, I could simply transform my arms into wings and accomplish the same thing," Blaine replied. "Which is why my superpower trumps yours."

Kurt made a face to convey his skepticism. "Except you would be a mutant, light-saber-armed... thing, and I would just be a graceful winged human being."

"Technically, we would both be mutants," Blaine pointed out.

"Yes, but there's a reason some X-Men are rejected as freaks of nature."

They both smiled, and there was a repeat of the earlier redirecting-smile-to-lap occurrence. Blaine's smile faded first, and his face was oddly solemn as he looked up. "Okay, this is kind of personal so don't feel pressured to answer; I'm just curious, but..." He met Kurt's eyes, "...When did you come out?"

Kurt felt his breath hitch. "Um... just last year, actually." He glanced over at Blaine, who was listening interestedly. "I think everyone already knew, though. And, I mean, jocks had been calling me 'Fairy Boy' for years already, so I don't think it came as much of a surprise. Just kind of added fuel to the fire."

"Jerks," Blaine said, exhaling in a kind of wry snort.

"Yeah, well," Kurt shrugged, "I'm used to it." He cleared his throat, suddenly antsy as he mashed his dinner around in its container. "So, what's your story?"

Blaine pressed his lips together. In the distance, a plane streaked a grey path across the evening sky. "Freshman year. At my old school, Balmoral Prep. It... didn't really go over too well." He raised his eyebrows, eyes focused on his legs where they stretched out from his bent knees. "Long story, but I ended up transferring to Dalton, and I've been there ever since."

For some reason, this response surprised Kurt. Blaine seemed so at ease with himself and confident in his sexuality, it was hard to imagine that his coming out might have been so difficult. Regardless, this question seemed to fracture the metaphorical ice. Questions became more and more personal in nature as the sun sank lower on the horizon and the amount of food in the containers was steadily depleted.

Twenty minutes later, Kurt was spearing his last piece of chicken, and he paused before raising it to his mouth. "I'm just curious, but... how many boyfriends have you had?"

Blaine, who was chewing, considered. He swallowed. "Approximately zero-point-five."

"Now I'm imagining you on a date with half a person," Kurt said, scrunching his face up. "How does that work?"

"We never really were officially 'dating'." Blaine shrugged. "We flirted and stuff, went out a few times, but in the end it just... didn't work out."

A beat of silence. "Well, your half a person still beats my zero."

"Seriously?" Blaine looked strangely surprised at this, as though the idea of Kurt never having had a boyfriend was absurd.

Kurt gave a cynical eyebrow-raise. "Only out kid at my school."

"Wow, that's got to be tough." Blaine, who was still blinking at him, the residue of some lingering thought in his eyes, pulled his legs up closer to his body. "Dalton must be a huge change then."

"What, how many gay guys _are _there at Dalton?"

"I have no idea, but you met two on your first day. Sebastian and Jamie."

"Huh." Kurt paused for a moment, and something crept onto his face. "Would either of them happen to be Mr. Half-A-Person?"

At this, Blaine looked a bit taken aback. "Uh... no, actually. Why?"

"Hmm. Just wondering."

"Next question," Blaine said, his tone becoming upbeat as he continued: "What are you going to be for Halloween?"

"Oh." Kurt's face immediately registered surprise. "Is there really any point of dressing up? I mean..."

"Ah," Blaine clapped a hand to his forehead, "I really haven't mentioned yet, have I? Dalton. We have this annual mixer thing with the Signet girls. There's a scavenger hunt and live music and stuff—it's usually pretty fun. You should definitely come."

"Well, I don't know Blaine, I have so many other plans..."

He laughed. "Tell you what. Let's go downtown tomorrow and find some kick-ass costumes. Trust me, anything's better than staying at home with my parents."

"I'll take your word for it."

They spent the rest of the night engaging in a variety of fruitless activities such as TV-watching and Game Cube rematches. Conversation flowed, and any quiet moment was an opportunity for The Question Game to resurface; their back-and-forth queries wove in and out of the entire evening. Kurt learned that Blaine liked Roxy Music, disco and old-time swing, drank far more coffee than was probably healthy, and was a member of the Dalton lacrosse team. On top of that, he played both guitar and piano at a near-prodigal skill level, had a Vogue subscription, and knew all of the lyrics to the Wicked soundtrack.

Needless to say, when Kurt finally went to bed that night, the last thing he thought of before his mind gave in to sleep was Blaine, the sunset reflecting in his eyes, smiling on the slanted rooftop.

(_Mission Impossible_)

Blaine's caffeine addiction became blatantly apparent the next morning when he downed one coffee upon rising, another before heading out the door, and then grabbed a latte at Starbucks when they got off the Subway at 34th Street.

Kurt, sipping daintily at his non-fat mocha, stared at everything in the city with big, awe-bright eyes. Cars moved by slowly, filling the streets like Lego blocks, and sunlight filtered between tall buildings here and there, creating a dappled sort of shade pattern along the sidewalk. The narrow walking strip was crowded, and Kurt stuck close to Blaine as they moved along at a brisk pace. He couldn't help but just _look _at him out of the corner of his eye every now and then. In his dark jeans and maroon sweater, with a black scarf draped tastefully around his neck, and sipping his latte every now and then, Blaine was the very epitome of style.

"So Chase and Dee are going to meet us in Macy's," Blaine was saying as he glanced at the screen of his Blackberry. "I hope that's okay. Apparently, they are also costume-less."

"Fine by me," Kurt replied, because, of course, it was.

In the end, they found the couple sampling perfumes on the bottom storey of the enormous department store.

"I don't like this one," Chase was saying, sniffing at his wrist. "It smells like... artichokes, or something."

Delilah made a face. "Only _you _would make that connection. Here, how about this one?" She sprizted him several times with a hot pink sampler bottle.

"Ugh." He coughed exaggeratedly and tried to wipe it off of his arm. "Too bubble-bathy."

Blaine and Kurt came to a halt behind them. "_Pink_ _Starlight_?" Blaine read the bottle in way of greeting and raised his eyebrows at his brother. "I feel like you may be a little out of your target demographic."

Chase grunted.

"He's my test subject," Delilah explained, patting him fondly (if a little evilly) on the shoulder. "My little sister's birthday's coming up. How are you guys? How's Dalton, Kurt?"

He shrugged, lifting his shoulders slightly with his hands still in the pockets of his white coat. "I survived Day One with minimal trauma."

"Good to hear." The girl grinned. "So, ready for some shopping?"

"Always," Kurt stressed.

They unanimously agreed to leave Macy's and begin trawling through smaller boutiques, mostly under Delilah's guidance. The blonde, clearly in her element, led them first to an earthy-looking thrift store called _HEMP_. The shop was full of drapy-looking fabrics and sticks of incense, with paper lanterns strung around the walls and clothing racks that were arranged completely haphazardly, rather than by size or garment type or anything vaguely logical. Kurt noted an overwhelming number of caftans amidst the merchandise.

"This place is great," Delilah assured them as they crossed the threshold. "You find the _best _treasures. Hey André," she added, waving to the dreadlocked male sitting behind the counter, who offered a relaxed salute in return.

"I don't know," Blaine said in an undertone. "I feel a little uncomfortable buying clothes from a store named after a hallucinogen."

"It smells like a Patchouli factory," Kurt added dubiously.

Chase was the last to enter. "And _I _still smell like the freaking Sugarplum Fairy. Dee, can we _please _stop somewhere with a decent bathroom. And industrial-strength disinfectant?"

"You smell adorable," was all Delilah said before slipping further down one of the incense-bathed aisles. As she walked away, she called back: "_Now shut up_."

And so the others were left with no choice but to disperse and poke around at the oddities in the store.

"This," Delilah gasped some five minutes later as she pulled a hanger out and examined the affixed garment, "is amazing." It was a thick, woolen poncho with threads of colour woven throughout. It was..._ something_, that was for sure. Delilah turned to Kurt, who was picking through a vaguely promising-looking section of the rack with stiff, careful fingers beside her. "Finding any inspiration?" she asked.

"If inspiration is a powder green peasant blouse, then yes, I'm finding plenty."

"Oh Kurt, I love your wit." As though she'd known him all her life. Then: "What were you last year?"

"What was I?"

"For Halloween."

"Oh. Sort of a glammed up version of Enjolras, from Les Mis."

She made a face of approval. "Sounds hot."

"Yes, the reflection in my mirror was very impressed. So was my table lamp, I hear."

Delilah glanced up from the long skirt she had been eyeing. "You didn't go out?"

"No." Kurt shrugged. "I'm not exactly first on the invite list for the football team's Halloween party."

The girl paused for a moment and chewed her lip, as though mulling something over. "Well if _I _had a football team, I'd... invite, like, twelve of you," she finally said.

Kurt blinked, attempting to make sense of this convoluted compliment. "...Thanks?"

"No problem," she threw back easily.

After fifteen minutes of aimless browsing, Chase, Blaine, and Kurt all somehow managed to casually drift back to the entrance area. Delilah emerged from behind a rack of scarves, both forearms loaded with garments on hangers, and paused when she saw them congregated there.

"Done already?" she asked.

"Well," said Chase. "Considering I have no intention of showing up to Brad's party as Janis Joplin or a burlap sack, I think I'm out of luck here."

"Am I seriously the only one buying anything?" Delilah asked, scanning her companions' arms for potential purchases.

She was. And she was at the next store, too. And the next—save for Kurt, who couldn't resist snatching up a Calvin Klein blazer that was on clearance. As they emerged from the third shop and back into the windy air, Delilah sighed loudly.

"This is pathetic," she said. "I have my costume all picked out, _plus _accessories, and you guys still don't have a thing!" She waved her bags into the air to reinforce her frustration.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but shopping for Halloween costumes is like... the worst thing ever," Kurt said with a sigh.

"Right?" Blaine agreed intensely. "You keep hoping you'll get inspired while you shop, but nothing ever actually comes to mind."

"And if you already have an idea, you can't find anything you need," Kurt added.

"This is what the internet is for," Chase pointed out. The wind was blowing strands of dark hair into his eyes. "You just Google '_whatever _costume' and voila. Instant results. Plus home delivery."

"But that's so... generic," Delilah replied, wrinkling her nose in distaste. The diamond stud amidst her freckles glinted as she did so. "And boring. A zillion other people will have the same costume as you."

"Who cares?" Chase said, and she responded by pushing his shoulder, smiling faintly.

Blaine and Kurt, meanwhile, were walking side-by-side, directly behind them on the narrow sidewalk. It was noticeably quieter in this part of the city, with just the odd person passing by every now and then.

"So," Blaine said, "where to now?"

Delilah considered. "I feel like we need a new strategy," she confessed.

"I've got it," Chase supplied. "New method. You close your eyes, spin around, and the first thing you see when you open them is what you're being for Halloween."

"That's completely ridiculous," Blaine scoffed.

A minute later, everyone was testing it out.

"I see..." Chase wobbled as he opened his eyes. A woman in black brushed past irritably, heels clicking against the sidewalk in her haste. "...a garbage can. Shit. Redo!"

"Nope," Delilah snorted. "Rules are rules. And you're in luck—I think Walgreen's has a sale on garbage bags right now."

Meanwhile, Blaine and Kurt had both halted, and by some stroke of luck, they were both staring up at a big poster for _Wicked_.

"Oh, that's brilliant," Chase choked, laughing. "I can just see it now; the two witches of Oz. Who's wearing the Glinda dress?"

"Who's _buying _the Glinda dress?" Kurt corrected. "I hear it's worth like ten thousand dollars."

Delilah was studying the boys. "Actually," she said, "I think Kurt would _rock _a Fiyero costume."

"What about me?" Blaine demanded.

Chase smirked. "No offense, Blaine, but I'd say you're more of a Boq."

"_What?_ I am not a Boq!"

"Think about it. He's short, and dark-haired... and that stripy blue outfit! _The too-short pants_!Dude, admit it, it's practically straight out of your closet."

"I am never talking to you again."

They bickered their way to a generic Midtown costume store, where Delilah immediately shoved a pile of garments into Chase's arms for him to try on. As the pair of them disappeared to the fitting area, Kurt glanced over and saw Blaine examining a pair of large, round-framed glasses.

"Why do I get the feeling you've been Harry Potter before?" he asked.

Blaine dropped the spectacles and looked over. Before he could reply, however, the shop door swung open and loud, angry voices began to drift inside. Both Kurt and Blaine whipped their heads around.

A dark-haired male stood in the doorway, holding it open as his head swivelled back to shout behind him. "_Fine_!" he was yelling. "_I don't care._" With an angry sigh, he turned his head around and entered the shop.

It was Griffin.

Kurt, upon realizing this, automatically scanned the sidewalk through the window to see who the other half of the disturbance was, and saw a leather coat and dark curls stalking away. Jamie.

"Griff?" Blaine, sounding as surprised as Kurt felt, took a step toward the newcomer. The eyes of everyone in the shop were on them. You could taste the tension.

Griffin, casually clad in jeans and a black t-shirt that said _Colossal II _across the front, looked over. His pale, thin face was wrinkled in displeasure, and his high-arching eyebrows lent an intensity to the thunderous expression. "Of course," he breathed upon seeing Kurt and Blaine. "You _would _be here to witness that. Out of _all _the stores in Manhattan, I choose this one. Story of my life."

"What happened?" Blaine asked.

Griffin shook his head. "Ask _him._"

"Who, Jamie?"

"Yeah." He shuffled further into the shop, and the stares began to fade. "If you can get him to tell you what the hell is wrong with him lately, I will _give_ you my original Captain America 128-page issue."

Blaine raised his brows. "As tempting as that sounds... Don't you think he's more likely to tell you? Being that you're, you know, his best friend and all?"

"Am I?" Griffin scoffed. "Maybe someone should notify _him _of that."

There was a moment of silence. Griffin deflated a little, exhaling a gigantic sigh. "Sorry," he said. "Kurt, right?" he nodded toward him.

"That's me."

"You guys shopping for Halloween costumes, too?"

"Trying to," Blaine replied. "Want to join us?"

Griffin debated for a moment. "To be honest, I'm not really feeling it right now. I think I need some time to just... think."

Blaine nodded. "No problem."

"See you at the mixer?"

"Of course."

With a final salute, Griffin left the shop. It was at that moment that a loud: "Kurt! Blaine! Come here!" sounded from the fitting room area. The pair of them walked over to find Delilah standing outside of a curtained stall. "I want your opinions," she explained. Then, in a louder voice: "Okay, you can come out!"

"I will kill you," came a low voice from within the dressing room. The curtain was ripped aside and Chase emerged, wearing a comical-looking period outfit, complete with pantaloons, lace cuffs and a feathered hat.

"Oh god," Blaine choked, and then doubled over laughing. Kurt fought to keep his face straight, but in the end it was impossible.

"That is _it_." Chase swiped the hat off of his head and glowered. "I'm done. I'll just go as a half-Filipino architecture student from Manhattan."

"But that's you," Delilah sighed.

"_Exactly_!"

The stretch of silence following this outburst was highly charged. Finally, Delilah sighed again. "Food break?" she queried.

All around, expressions of accord were exchanged.

"Food break," came the overwhelming and perfectly synchronized response.

(_Halloween_)

When the Andersons' Lexus pulled up in front of Dalton on Halloween night (courtesy of the family's elderly driver, Roger) Kurt did not even recognize the place. The stone exterior of the institution was shadowy and decrepit-looking, with utterly blackened windows giving a soulless appearance. A makeshift stage, currently occupied by a high-energy rock band, had been erected in the middle of the front green, and a mass of students had congregated around the set-up. With the garden flickering from the ghoulish grins of dozens of jack-o-lanterns, and giant cobwebs strung up everywhere, it resembled something out of a B-grade horror film.

"Oh my god," Kurt said as he slammed his door shut behind him. "Are those real bats?" He was gaping at the school's wrought iron gates, where a row of sleeping creatures hung, spindly and dark, from the metal.

"Yep." Blaine nodded. "Our decorating committee's a _tad_ overzealous. Last year, they had this jack-o-lantern that was so big you could literally walk through it."

"Wow. How...Cinderella."

"Yeah. Only, Luke managed to lock Thad inside—don't ask me how—and he was stuck in there for like half an hour." Blaine made a grim face. "By the time they found him, he was attempting to shove himself through the mouth cut-out, which was about twenty centimetres wide. It was pretty gruesome."

The two of them made it to the threshold, where the Head of School, Dean Volkwyn, was leaning against the wall with a clipboard. A squat, bearded man in his forties, Volkwyn had donned a cape for the occasion, which seemed to be a half-hearted attempt at embracing the Halloween spirit. It was unclear what, if anything, he was actually supposed to be.

"Names?" he asked.

"Blaine Anderson, sir," Blaine responded, "and Kurt Hummel."

The dean located their names and crossed them off, and then stepped aside to allow them passage with a vague: "Enjoy."

"You know," Blaine said to Kurt, "I hate to admit it, but Chase and Dee were right. You do make a pretty fantastic Fiyero."

Kurt glanced down at his costume and hoped it was dark enough that his cheeks weren't obviously pink. He had wound up finding a red vest that almost perfectly resembled that of Wicked's leading man, and had decided to build his costume around the piece. In the end, it was a pair of beige pants, high boots, and a white shirt that completed the ensemble, as well as a leather messenger bag that was slung over his shoulder.

"Well, thank you," he returned, "but I'm a little jealous of your ability to pull off a bandana so well. Not all of us were blessed with that ability." He hoped the compliment sounded offhand, because to put it quite bluntly, Blaine looked, well... _hot_. His pirate outfit consisted of a loose, partially unbuttoned white shirt over dark pants, with the aforementioned red bandana tied around his unruly curls.

Ahead of them, darkened, grassy earth pounded with a bass beat beneath the stars, and the crowd was a jumble of clashing costumes and masks. As they approached the stage area, the music came to a close with a final, eardrum-shattering crash of drums.

"Alright! Let's hear it for _Six-Step Process_!" The emcee announced to a rush of screaming and applause. "Don't go anywhere, we've got _Skylark Resistance _coming up in a few minutes." And there was a lull as the stagehands emerged and began to rearrange the equipment.

"So where are the bands from?" Kurt asked.

"Mostly local groups," Blaine replied. "A lot of them are students at Dalton or Signet."

"Do the Warblers ever perform?"

"Sometimes. Last year we did. It was right after the whole pumpkin..._debacle..._though, and Thad forgot most of the lyrics and ended up shoving Luke to the ground in a fit of rage." He sighed. "We decided Dalton probably wasn't ready for the Warblers to grace their Halloween stage again just yet. Speak of the devil..."

They had arrived at the refreshment table, where Luke was standing with David and the redhead from the lunchtime serenade.

"Hey," David greeted them. He was almost unrecognizable with a shaded battle visor across his eyes and a leather uniform that revealed his muscular frame. Juliet, beside him, sported a green bodysuit on her athletic figure, with a gold sash tied around her waist. Her hair was big, loose and fiery.

"Cyclops and Jean Grey," Blaine deduced. He raised his eyebrows in David's direction. "I thought you had a personal rule against couple costumes."

"I still think they're tacky and unnecessary," David defended, removing his shades. "I was all set to go as Michael Jordan, but then Jules showed me her costume and I was like, 'Well now I have to be Cyclops.' You don't just _turn down _an opportunity to be Scott Summers, Blaine."

"Fiyero!" Luke exclaimed suddenly, pointing at Kurt. He was holding a can of Red Bull in his hand—or paw, rather—and grinning. The boy was dressed in the most insane, atrocious, and downright confusing costume that Kurt had ever seen. It seemed to be partly made of black felt, with hints of white here and there and a long, shiny piece of green fabric that wove throughout and hung like a tail in the back. Tufts of fur were everywhere, and there was a strange streak of blood red around his mouth. With passion, he began singing: "_Dancing through life, skimming the surface, gliding where turf is smooooooth. Life's more painless_—"

"No more Red Bull for you tonight, Luke," David advised, leaning over to remove the can from his grasp.

Luke dodged the confiscation attempt. "Ah, loosen up, Davey," he responded, slapping him on the back. "I think you _need _a Red Bull. And so do I. Another one, I mean. Red Bull for everyone!" He jumped into the air wildly.

David made a face of disgust. "Call me Davey again and I will actually slap you."

"Who are we slapping?" Wes appeared behind them, dressed in a neat tuxedo and carrying a nearly-empty cup of punch. Amy, holding onto his arm, was stunning in a long, red formal dress.

"Three guesses," David growled. He exhaled and spun around to fully face his best friend. "Hey, looking sharp, man."

"The name's Bond," Wes corrected him very seriously, "James Bond." His eyes flicked over the rest of the group. "Hey Blaine, Kurt. Loving the costumes." His eyes stopped when they hit the ball of fluff and fake blood that was Luke. "Oh dear lord. Luke, I may regret asking this, but... what the hell _are _you?"

"You will find that I have disguised myself as a rare species, known to mankind as the Hungering Cobra-Badger of Doom." Luke held up his Red Bull. "All Bow to the King of Costumes, please."

"...Are you _drunk_?"

"Alright everybody!" The emcee's booming voice put an end to the conversation. "Put your hands together for _Skylark Resistance!_"

A heavy beat exploded from the stage, and a pounding rhythm announced the song's introduction.

"That's Griffin's sister," Blaine said loudly, leaning over to direct his words into Kurt's ear while he pointed toward the stage.

"Excuse me," Luke said, pushing his Red Bull into David's hand and shoving Wes aside to approach the stage.

Blaine added: "Luke is slightly in love with her."

Kurt supposed he could see what the appeal might be. The girl who had emerged onto the stage was breathtaking in a strange sort of way. She was as pale as Griffin, with the same jet black hair, though hers was much, much longer. With her wide-set blue eyes and bright red lips, she resembled a porcelain-doll-gone-bad.

**watch?v=ZlQGgDE9NNk**_  
His little whispers, love me, love me  
That's all I ask for, love me, love me  
He battered his tiny fists to feel something  
Wondered what it's like to touch and feel something_

Her voice was sweet yet dark. Kurt watched in vague interest as she sang into the microphone, band pounding behind her.

_Monster  
How should I feel?  
Creatures lie here  
Looking through the window_

Closer to the stage, Luke was still shoving his way to the front of the mob.

"It always amazes me how little shame he has," David sighed.

"Is she aware of his... affections?" Kurt wondered.

At this, David and Wes snorted. "Last Valentine's day, he composed a rap for her, recorded it, rode his bike to her house and then stood in the middle of the street with it blasting on full volume while he interpretive-break-danced," Wes informed him. "People were cringing in humiliation all the way to _Vietnam_."

"You've got to hand it to him, though," Juliet said, eyeing the boy's overgrown hair where it was sticking up above the rest of the crowd, "He really never gives up. It's almost kind of sweet."

"_Almost,_" David stressed. "In reality, it's just kind of disturbing."

The song came to a close, and Luke's shout of "I love you, Shiloh!" was so loud that it rang across the entire field.

"Yep," Wes agreed. "Very, very disturbing. Shall we dance?"

(_Just the Girl_)

Half an hour later, the school grounds were still alive with music. Kurt, Blaine, and a handful of Warblers had taken to grooving out on the field in a moderate-sized circle. David, it turned out, was ridiculously talented as a dancer, and effortlessly flowed with the music every step he took. He and Juliet, who, Kurt learned, was a cheerleader at Signet, moved together with the level of style and skill that one might associate with the Step Up franchise. Wes was a little more reserved and sophisticated with his moves, while Blaine was the kind of dancer who just threw his everything into the moment and had fun, regardless of how ridiculous he looked. Kurt surprised himself by having a complete blast there on the front green, dancing and laughing as the night wore on.

Sometime around nine, Thad emerged from the crowd to join them.

Wes was the first to see him, and he stopped dancing so quickly he almost looked as though he was having some sort of seizure.

"Oh. My. God." Kurt's jaw dropped so far it almost fell off of his face.

"Yo," said Thad casually, as though he was not standing before them in a voluminous dress and a black, flowered-adorned hat.

David looked horrified. "Thad," he croaked, "I was _joking _when I suggested Mary Poppins!"

"Chill, David. It's called comic irony."

"It's called grotesque, man. If I lose my eyesight, you're paying for my cornea transplant."

As they continued to squabble, Kurt came to a realization.

"... sorry you don't understand the nuances of humour..."

"...not saying it's not the actual funniest thing I've ever seen, I'm just saying it should be illegal..."

"Hey, where did Luke go?" he asked, scanning the area for the boy in question.

"I feel like he's been gone for a while, come to think of it," Blaine said with a frown.

David snorted. "He probably took one look at Gary Poppins over here and ran for his life."

Luke's true whereabouts, however, was confirmed about a minute later. The Warblers had been so caught up in Thad's arrival that they had not even noticed the music stop and the band leave the stage. Now, in the intermission time, there was a high-pitched feedback sound from the microphone.

"...Hello, fellow human beings." Luke appeared onstage. He seemed to have hijacked a mike. "My name is Luke Heathleigh, and I have something that I want to say. Slash sing. Dudes?" He looked expectantly behind him, and three figures appeared from the wings. Kurt recognized Trent, Nick, and Jeff, who were dressed all in red, green and brown, respectively.

"Oh, god," David muttered. "They're a freaking BLT."

"What are they _doing_?" Wes demanded anxiously.

All around, the crowd was generally silent, with a few inquisitive murmurings beginning to rise into the air. Luke squared his shoulders. Then, he pointed straight into the audience. "Shiloh Eldridge, this is for you."

An upbeat backing track immediately began to play, and Trent, Nick and Jeff started dancing and harmonizing back-up vocals. Luke held the mike up and stared out into the audience as he sang:

**watch?v=uQBu5whSgC4**_  
She's cold and she's cruel but she knows what she's doing  
She pushed me in the pool at our last school reunion  
She laughs at my dreams but I dream about her laughter  
Strange as it seems she's the one I'm after_

"Oh my god," Blaine said faintly. Onstage, Luke spun his mike stand around and did a jump-kick as the chorus began. He emoted every lyric, pain exaggeratedly written all over his face as he sang his heart out. His backup singers continued to add their harmonies as they moved in time to the rhythm.

_'Cause she's bittersweet  
She knocks me off of my feet  
And I can't help myself  
I don't want anyone else  
She's a mystery  
She's too much for me  
But I keep coming back for more  
She's just the girl I'm looking for_

At this point, he leaped off of the stage and began moving slowly and determinedly toward something in the audience. Or rather, everyone came to notice, _someone_. Shiloh's face was a complete mish-mash of emotions—none of which appeared to be particularly positive. Surrounded by several amused-looking friends, she crossed her arms across her front of her lacy black dress and gritted her teeth.

_But when she sees it's me  
On her caller ID  
She won't pick up the phone  
She'd rather be alone  
But I can't give up just yet  
'Cause every word she's ever said  
Is still ringing in my head  
Still ringing in my head..._

_She's cold and she's cruel but she knows what she's doing  
Knows just what to say so my whole day is ruined_

He fell to his knees in front of her as the music lulled, and then immediately, in one fluid motion, jumped back onto his feet to kick off the chorus again. Shiloh shook her head. Luke danced wildly.

_'Cause she's bittersweet_  
_She knocks me off of my feet_  
_And I can't help myself_  
_I don't want anyone else_  
_She's a mystery_  
_She's too much for me_  
_But I keep coming back for more_  
_Oh I keep coming back for more_  
_She's just the girl I'm looking for_  
_Just the girl I'm looking for_

He squinted his eyes as he belted out the final lines.

_I'm looking for_  
_I'm looking for_  
_I'm looking for_  
_Just the girl I'm looking for_

Luke lowered his microphone, grinning dopily at the object of his affection and taking heavy breaths. The crowd was momentarily silent.

And then, all at once, a thunderous round of applause and cat-calls broke out.

Near the rear of the crowd, David raised his Cyclops-visor. "I've _gotta _see her reaction," he said. "C'mon."

And so the group of Warblers, along with Juliet and Amy, pushed their way to the front of the crowd, where Shiloh was still staring at Luke, speechless.

Finally, she inhaled deeply. "Lucas," she said, very patiently, "Please tell me that you did notjust serenade me with a song by _The Click Five_. Dressed in mutilated felt. Backed up by a BLT sandwich."

"I think you will find that I did."

"I think you will find that I'm not particularly impressed."

"...I think you will find that you are."

"_Heathleigh_!" This irate, magnified voice belonged to Volkwyn. He was standing centre-stage, holding a microphone, and staring Luke down with laser eyes that complimented his cape in a very frightening way. "That's enough! A reminder to everyone here tonight that _nobody _will take to the stage unless they are part of the approved, scheduled programming."

"Apologies, Sir." Luke spoke into his microphone still. "I felt it was a necessary action. To take in my life. At this point in time." Then, he made to return the microphone to the befuddled stagehands, but stopped when Volkwyn's voice cut him off again.

"Heathleigh_._" The Dean sounded entirely unimpressed.

Luke looked up. "Yes, Sir."

"I will be speaking to you on Monday."

"...Yes, Sir. Looking forward to it, Sir."

(_A Slight Aside_)

"I bet you're wondering," Nick began.

"Why we have gathered you here tonight," finished Jeff.

Blaine sighed. "I'm guessing it has _something_ to do with your unhealthy obsession with winning the scavenger hunt."

Trent nodded. "Precisely."

The bacon, lettuce and tomato-clad trio had kidnapped Blaine and Kurt moments earlier, ushering them into a secluded part of the school grounds while the rest of the mixer-goers were arranging themselves into teams for the impending event.

"I am so lost," Kurt sighed.

"We have scanned this year's entrants extensively," Trent explained, "and have calculated that the two of you will give our team the best chance of winning."

"Can I ask, exactly, what your methods were?" Blaine raised an eyebrow.

"Thad's costume is bulky and impractical at best," Nick explained. "David and Wes have the smarts, but with their girlfriends around, their attention will be compromised."

"And we all know Jamie and Griffin are so high-strung right now their emotions could start World War Three," Jeff added.

"What about Luke?" Kurt wanted to know.

There were hisses all around. "_Do not speak the cursed name,_" Trent whispered fiercely.

Kurt blinked. "Excuse me?"

Blaine heaved a sigh. "Long story short: Luke's team comes dead last every single year. We call it The Curse."

"So what do you say," Jeff steered the conversation back to the matter at hand. In his bacon-streaked outfit, with his surfer-boy haircut and excited grin, he looked mildly ridiculous. "Team mates?"

Blaine and Kurt looked at each other. Both shrugged their shoulders as if to say 'eh'.

"I will take that as a yes," Nick announced. "From now on, we will be known as the Dream Team."

Trent thrust his hand forward, urging the others to do the same. "Dream Team on three!"

"One, two, three... _Dream Team_ !"

They lifted their hands to the starry sky, and there was tangible excitement in the air.

Then...

"Hey Dream Team!" David called, a good-naturedly mocking edge to his voice. He was flanked by Wes, Amy and Juliet. "Get your butts out of the garden and get over here. This thing's about to start!"

(_It Starts_)

"So the costumes," Blaine said about ten minutes later, gesturing to the bacon, lettuce and tomato get-ups that his teammates were wearing, "All part of your strategy, too, I'm guessing?"

Teams were lining up along the school boundaries, waiting for the announcer to officially kick off the scavenger hunt. The space was full of chatter and laughter as people darted around on the darkened green.

Nick glanced down at his simple green t-shirt and pants. "I don't know what you're talking about, Blaine."

"What do you take us for?" Trent added.

"I'm _talking_," Blaine carried on with a slight grin, "about the obvious stream-lining—"

"You want to talk about stream-lining," Jeff cut him off, nodding toward the group beside them, "Check out Jamie."

Everyone looked over. The boy was dressed entirely in black—dark jeans, a jacket, and expensive-looking running shoes. He looked like he was dressed for the scavenger-hunting Olympic finals.

"Jamie!" Jeff called over. "What are you supposed to be?"

The other boy barely turned his head. "Black,' he responded. "The colour."

"That is _so _cheating," Nick said in a low voice.

Kurt made a face of mild amusement. "You do realize you're wearing almost the exact same thing, but in green, right?"

"But I'm _lettuce_," Nick countered. "It's entirely different."

Rising voices drew their attention back to the group beside them. Griffin and Jamie appeared to be facing off with Luke and Thad.

"No," Jamie was saying to Luke, looking murderous. "No, I refuse."

"Minimum of four people, bro," Luke replied. His costume was falling apart; pieces of felt were fraying and tufts of fur were hanging loose. "Everyone else has got a team already. Come on."

"This is ridiculous." Jamie turned a stony face on Thad and his dress. "_How _are you planning to run through Central Park in that thing?"

"Please. I can run in anything."

"You can barely walk in a straight line as it is!"

Griffin sighed. His was dressed as some obscure comic book character that probably nobody knew apart from him. "Jamie, come on, just let them. If we don't have four people, we can't compete anyway."

"_No_."

"You're taking this way too seriously..."

The Dream Team turned back to one another with a medley of expressions on their faces.

"Sucks to be them," Jeff muttered.

"Hang on," Blaine cut in, craning his neck to look at something in the distance. "I think they're handing out the lists. Be right back." And he took off, returning a couple of minutes later with a sheet of paper clamped in his hand.

"Let's see," Jeff said, immediately stealing it to see for himself. Everyone crowded around, jostling for space. There was silence for a moment as they read.

_**Find as many as you can...**_

_A plastic spoon  
A leaf  
Something with graffiti on it  
A coffee cup__**  
**__An empty toilet paper roll  
A boiled egg  
A takeaway menu  
A hula hoop  
A purple gel pen  
A 'Caution: Wet Floor' sign  
A bar of hotel soap  
The business card of a lawyer  
A restaurant napkin  
Something from Tiffany's__**  
**_

"...Why do I feel like we're not going to find all of this in Central Park?" Kurt finally broke the silence.

"The park's more of a starting point than an actual boundary," Trent explained. "The only real rule is no vehicles. As long as you're walking, pretty much everywhere's fair game."

It was at this moment that the megaphone-altered voice of the announcer called out: "_If you have a list, you can start. Good luck everyone!_" and the conversation came to an abrupt end.

There was a mad dash, and all hell broke loose.

(_Some Snippets_)

The upper part of Central Park was awash with costumes and colour and voices. Kurt couldn't help but notice that for most of the participants, this event seemed to be a casual, entertaining way to spend the night with friends. For his team, however, this couldn't have been further from the truth.

"Hurry up, slowpokes! Time's-a-ticking!" Jeff called back to Kurt and Blaine, who were lagging behind again.

The two of them exchanged a look of mild exasperation and then hurried to catch up with their jogging team mates.

"Okay," Trent said, as he continued moving forward. "Here's the plan. We'll start with the easy stuff, and then make our way out of the park to grab the rest."

"Let's go through the list again," Nick suggested as he surged forward.

"Leaf, plastic spoon, coffee cup, something with graffiti on it..." Jeff read aloud, taking sharp breaths between the items. "I say we head down West Drive for a bit, get the easy things, and then get out onto Eighth."

"Any objections?" Nick asked.

Kurt and Blaine, who were beginning to lag again, exchanged a slight shrug.

"Good," said Jeff. With a heroic finger, he pointed forward. "Onwards, men!"

* * *

Somewhere along East Drive, Jamie flung his arm out sideways and caught Thad across the chest, effectively stopping him. "Is that what I think it is?" he said, squinting over to his right. Everyone spun their heads to look, and sure enough, something that looked suspiciously like a plastic spoon was glinting underneath a park bench not too far away.

"I got this," Luke announced. His teammates immediately opened their mouths to protest, but he was already setting off to investigate. As he was dodging between trees and running full-throttle, someone emerged into the halo of street-lamp light right in front of him, and he stuttered to an abrupt halt.

"_What the_—oh..." It was like something within him melted. "... Shiloh."

Her hair was loose around her doll-like face, and she was still wearing that lacy black dress from the performance. Luke stared.

"Hi, Luke," the girl replied distractedly. "...Well, bye." She made to continue forward.

"Wait!" Luke said, catching up to her. All thoughts of plastic spoons had completely disappeared from his mind. "I have a question."

Shiloh raised her (_pretty, delicate, perfect_) eyebrows.

"So I've decided that I should probably give you a nickname," Luke continued, shoving his hands into his pockets, "What do you like better: Shi, or Loh?"

Shiloh snorted. "What do _you _like better? Luke, or Ass?"

He sighed. "See? _That._ That wit. That is why you are my soul mate."

"Interesting theory," Shiloh replied as she took a few steps forward. And then: "Gotta run." In one lithe motion, she dodged ahead of him and before he knew what was happening, she had bent down to collect what was indeed a plastic spoon.

Luke stared at her retreating figure for a moment, and then his jaw dropped open. "..._Hey_!"

* * *

"Phase One accomplished," Trent announced as Blaine added an empty Starbucks cup to their bag of items.

"What now?" Kurt asked. Despite his initial hesitation, he was beginning to get into the spirit of the contest; it was fairly impossible _not _to be affected by the competitive energy of his team mates.

"How about we split up?" Blaine suggested. "There's a Chinese place right across the road. Kurt and I can grab a takeout menu and some napkins. Maybe you guys could hit up the Astor and try to steal a bar of soap?"

The others considered. "Good plan," Nick said. "You've got your phone, right?"

Blaine nodded.

"Kurt," Trent said, fishing around in his pocket. "You should give us your number too, just in case."

"We'll need it anyway, to harass you about Warbler practices," Jeff reasoned.

Kurt stopped himself right before he absentmindedly rattled off the number of his Ohio phone. "Oh, my phone stopped working. I'm still on the market for a replacement."

"That sucks, man," Jeff replied. "But no worries, we'll just have to bother Blaine double."

"Text us when you're done," Trent said cheerfully, and then the team split, with the BLT boys heading in the general direction of the Astor on the Park, and Blaine and Kurt leaving Central Park for the glowing lights of Eighth Avenue.

They had almost made it up onto the sidewalk when a shadowy figure emerged into their path.

"Hello, boys," a voice drawled, and Kurt and Blaine stopped walking. A flicker of headlights from a passing car lit up the angles of Sebastian Smythe's grinning face.

Blaine's expression immediately hardened. "What do you want?"

"Can't I say hello?"

"No, actually, you can't. Come on, Kurt." Blaine moved forward, and Kurt made to follow him, but Sebastian stepped into his path, cutting him off. He looked down at him with a dark expression of appraisal, curiosity, and amusement.

Kurt felt strange under his gaze, and averted his eyes.

"So... Kurt," Sebastian murmured, "I don't think we were ever properly introduced. Hot costume, by the way."

Kurt coloured.

"_Leave_, Sebastian," Blaine growled.

"No, I don't think I'm ready to go just yet," he replied. "We were just getting to know each other." He turned back to Kurt. "So you're Daddy Anderson's newest... _protégé_."

Kurt stiffened. "I don't know what you're—"

"My father works with Blaine's father," Sebastian cut him off. "Which means that I'm privy to all _sorts _of information." He leered. "What _did_ you run away from, Hummel?"

"I _swear, _Sebastian..." With angry eyes, Blaine took a step forward.

Kurt folded his arms. "I don't really think that's any of your business," he told Sebastian coolly.

To his greatest discomfort, the tall boy merely smirked. He felt his skin prickle. "That's okay," he returned. "I like a challenge. I'll figure you out."

At this Blaine, let out a scoff. "Okay. Are you even _in _the scavenger hunt? Or are you just lurking in the park?"

"I_ am_ in the hunt," Sebastian replied. He pointed to the satchel he was holding, which appeared to be full to the brim already. "And I intend on winning."

Blaine made a sceptical face. "Where's your team?"

"You're looking at it."

"I thought it was a minimum of four people," Kurt challenged.

Sebastian smirked again (Kurt wondered vaguely if his face knew how to do anything else). "Just a rumour. I checked with Volkwyn. Besides," his grin widened, "I don't need anybody slowing me down."

"Well, don't let _us_ hold you up, then," Blaine said. This time, he stalked forward with purpose, followed closely by Kurt, and left Sebastian standing there, upper half of his body spun around to follow the retreating pair.

"Whatever it is, Hummel," Sebastian spoke relatively quietly, but the words carried over on the faint breeze with a crispness that was almost eerie. "...I'll figure it out." And then he wandered away, blending back into the darkness.

"Why does he care?" Kurt muttered to Blaine, readjusting the strap of his bag where it lay across his chest and trying to stop the hairs on his arms rising.

"Try me," Blaine sighed. "Sebastian's head is a highly confusing, vaguely psychotic place."

"What a horrible environment. I feel sorry for his brain."

"I feel sorry for his hair."

"I feel sorry for his smirky little meerkat face."

They both laughed. The lights and sounds of Eighth Avenue were all around them.

"So, does his dad really work with yours?"

Blaine made a face. "Unfortunately. For almost twenty years now, actually. Let's cross here." He paused at the nearest crosswalk, checked for oncoming traffic, and set off across the street. Kurt shadowed him and they ended up across from a Chinese food restaurant with a glowing neon sign in the window.

"Should we buy something?" Kurt wondered. "I feel a little awkward just stealing a bunch of stuff and then leaving."

"Me too," Blaine confessed. Under the artificial light, his eyes were almost as light as honey. "At the risk being incarcerated by our insane teammates... I'm kind of hungry, too. Have you ever had Baobing?"

"I'm going to go with no."

Blaine laughed. "You don't know what you're missing. Come on." With a steady hand, he pushed the door open.

* * *

"Be cool bro." Luke scanned the perimeter calmly with a hand to his chin. "I think..."

"Oh, you _think_, do you?" Jamie snarled, hurling a stick into the air and then watching with maddened eyes as it shattered against the pavement. "Then tell me, _how the hell_ did we get into this situation?"

The doomed foursome had somehow become lost in the middle of an enormous grove of trees that Griffin had dubbed 'The Forbidden Forest' after they'd had a close encounter with a spider web of terrifying proportions. Nobody was getting enough signal to use their phones, and they had been walking around in circles for at least ten minutes.

"Cool it, okay?" Griffin advised. He was sitting on the ground, knees drawn upwards, looking resigned. "Can we all just sit down and accept the fact that we are completely fucked?"

"We are four New Yorkers in freaking _Central Park_!" Jamie burst out, avoiding eye contact and acting as though the previously-spoken words had not quite reached his ears. "_How _are we this lost?"

"Luke is here. All logic _can _and _will _fly out the window," Griffin reminded him.

Again, Jamie seemed to disregard the comment. "This is _great_." He snapped a stick in half and dropped the pieces onto the ground. "Fucking _great_."

"I keep telling you, I'm pretty sure we're somewhere around the Conservatory Garden," Thad said. He was sitting with his back up against a tree, flipping his flowery hat between his hands.

There was silence, and then Griffin snorted loudly.

Thad looked up. "What?"

"Sorry," the dark-haired boy said. "It's just a little hard to take you seriously right now."

"Whatever," Jamie snapped. He stuck his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "Let's just get moving, okay? If we hurry, we might still have a chance."

Griffin shot him a bewildered look. "Yeah, if all the other teams miraculously get eaten by an enormous dragon or something."

Jamie did not laugh. For the first time that night, he spared a glance toward Griffin, gazing down with hard, light green eyes. "Let's just go. Please."

Griffin squinted up at him, shook his head minutely, and then rose to his feet, brushing bark and leaves off of his pants. "Fine," he said shortly. "Whatever you want."

* * *

"This is surprisingly delicious." Kurt prodded his pile of syrupy shaved ice and fruit with the back of his spoon, and then took another bite.

He and Blaine were standing on a street corner, leaning against the wall of a closed, darkened shop and eating their freshly purchased baobing.

"Glad you like it," Blaine responded, digging to the bottom of his bowl to scrape out the remainders. "Should we try and hide the evidence before they get here?"

Kurt had stilled his hand, eyes wide and far-focused on the threesome approaching from across the street. "Too late," he murmured.

"_What is that?_" Trent, who was carrying a large piece of yellow plastic, sped up to a jog and hurried over to inspect the cups of icy remains. "You guys seriously stopped for dessert in the middle of a scavenger hunt?"

Jeff looked distraught. "You guys seriously stopped for dessert and didn't share?"

"Here." Kurt offered him the remainder of his, which he gladly accepted. After a couple of seconds of frantic eating, he glanced up into the stony faces of Nick and Trent. Mouth full of ice, he shrugged. "...Whah?"

"Get your head in the game," Nick berated him.

"Don't you _High School Musical _me, Nicholas."

"Don't you _Nicholas _me, Jeffrey."

Trent sighed. "Shut up, you two."

"_You _shut up... Trentimus."

There was a slight pause, as everyone tried to work out what Jeff had just said.

"Okay, mission recap," Nick finally spoke. "Thanks to Jeff's uncanny ability to charm the pants off of anything that breathes, we managed to get the concierge to find us a bar of the Astor's finest _savon ivoire_." He pulled the fancy-looking wrapped soap out of the bag.

Jeff grinned. "We also broke into the janitor closet at Starbucks," he informed them.

"Oh, god. You would." Blaine shook his head dully.

"It took us like ten minutes to unravel the freaking toilet paper," Trent said, "but the pile of remains was a good enough distraction to occupy the staff while we grabbed this," he gestured to the wet floor sign, "and ran away."

"How did you guys go?" Nick asked.

Blaine handed over the menu and a handful of napkins. "Check and check."

"Excellent." Jeff grinned widely. "Now all we have left is..." His eyes scanned the list and lost a bit of their spark. "...a whole bunch of really impossible crap."

"Do they really expect us to find something from Tiffany's just laying around on the street?" Kurt asked.

There was a slight period of silence. For some reason, Trent and Jeff's eyes slid toward Nick.

The brown-haired Warbler inhaled. "Guys, no. I told her I wouldn't..."

"Come on," Jeff pleaded.

Trent clasped his hands together. "We're desperate."

"She has the _flu,_" Nick protested.

"Is anyone going to enlighten us here?" Blaine asked. The moment the words left his mouth, it seemed to dawn on him. "Wait a second... Sammi?"

"Bingo," said Jeff.

"Do the words 'bed rest' mean nothing to you people?" Nick demanded.

Jeff shrugged. "Pretty much."

"Please?" Trent begged.

Nick crossed his arms. "No. Absolutely not."

* * *

"_Nick_?" the speaker buzzed with a quiet and slightly congested-sounding female voice.

"I'm really, really sorry," he spoke into the device in defeat. "They threatened mutiny. I had no choice."

"Hey Sammi!" Jeff added cheerfully.

"_Guys, I am literally in my pyjamas right now_."

"It's cool."

"_I am probably highly contagious_."

"Whatever."

_"...You __**really **__want to win this thing, don't you_?"

Trent snorted. "Is that even a question?"

A slight pause.

"Help us, Sammi-Wan Kenobi. You're our only hope," Jeff said in a weak, pathetic voice.

"_Oh gosh... alright... come on up. But could you try to be a bit quiet? My parents are already in bed_."

The door buzzed open, and everyone shuffled into the air-conditioned lobby of a fancy apartment building. In the centre, there was a small fountain, where hundreds of coins glinted under the golden accent lights. They took the elevator to the fifteenth floor, which turned out to be a penthouse suite. The name _Fairclough _was embossed onto a plaque in cursive lettering on the wall. As the boys were filing out into a mirrored entry area, a girl came around the corner, shrugging on a sweater over her flannels. She was built in a way that the kind-hearted would likely describe as 'curvy', while the not-so-nice might favour 'chubby'. Regardless, she was beautiful, with a round face, white-blonde hair and eyes that were almost violet in the cool lighting of the foyer (though they were currently a little red-rimmed).

"Hey," Nick said, using one arm to pull her into a hug.

"_Nick_," she protested, somewhat weakly. "You'll get sick, don't."

He ignored her and kissed the side of her head. "Don't care."

She smiled slightly as he released her, and Kurt was hit with that longing sort of feeling one sometimes encounters when witnessing one of those tight, long-time couples. It was sort of sweet and unpleasant at the same time.

"Sammi," Nick said, gesturing behind him, "this is Kurt."

The corners of her lips turned up a little as she met his eyes. "Nice to meet you."

"I'm sorry for intruding into your house late at night," Kurt returned.

Sammi giggled. "It's okay, I'm kind of used to it."

"Hey," Jeff defended. "You were too sick to come, so we figured we'd bring the scavenger hunt to you."

"On that topic..." Trent turned to the girl very seriously; what he was about to say was clearly a matter of life or death. "..._Please _tell me you are in possession of a hula hoop."

(_The Home Stretch_)

"Run!" Jeff yelled over his shoulder, urging his teammates forward. He was leading the pack as they sprinted around the corner and began to approach the school gates. "Come _on_!"

"It is physically impossible," Blaine protested, "for me to move my legs any faster."

"Nothing is impossible!" yelled Trent.

They whooshed through the gates in a blur of costumes and scavenger hunt oddities.

"Adjudicator!" Jeff called breathlessly as they came upon the finish area. "We need an adjudicator!"

A woman in her forties, one that Kurt recognized vaguely as a teacher, clip-clopped over in her high heels. "Let's see, boys."

Nick handed over the bag and the wet floor sign, and after several seconds of muttering and checking the items against the list, the woman lifted her head. "Congratulations," she told them. "You've got everything."

"Yes!" Jeff pumped a fist. "First place! _Ce-le-brate goods times, come_—"

"Oh," the woman cut him off. "I'm sorry, but we already have a winner. It was close, but he arrived about five minutes before you did."

Everyone's face fell.

"Who?" Nick asked despondently.

"Over there." The woman gestured to an area closer to the school, where someone was leaning up against the trunk of a gnarled, gangly tree. As if on cue, the boy turned his head, and his mouth stretched into a Cheshire grin.

"Sorry, boys," Sebastian said. "Better luck next time."

* * *

**A/N: **And so ends the way-too-long third chapter. I'm really sorry about the length...I've always been a failure at condensing my writing. Big hugs to everyone who has reviewed with such lovely comments. It's definitely a huge motivator, and I appreciate every word.

Anyway, it is simply a fact that there are too many characters in this story. I think I was a bit overambitious in planning it, because I had sort of wanted it to be more like a tv show, and less like a book, if that makes sense. I promise the new-people-introductions will start to die down soon, and hopefully it's not too insane in the meantime.

**Next time: Kurt's homesickness comes to a head after an overheard conversation, and the Warblers, under Blaine's guidance, take it upon themselves to cheer him up. **


	4. Real Friends Throw Parties

******I do not own Glee. I do, however, enjoy playing around in its brilliant universe every now and then.**

* * *

**Chapter Four**

**"Real Friends Throw Parties"**

* * *

(_Whispers_)

"Sebastian," Blaine snarled for about the thirtieth time that night, as he and Kurt walked down the lamp-lit sidewalk on their way home. He had a look of complete infuriation on his face. "I still cannot believe that _Sebastian _won."

"The worst part," Kurt sighed, "is that he somehow managed to beat us singlehandedly."

The two of them were briskly travelling along a deserted, quiet street lined with grand townhouses that towered over them in the night. Dalton was about a fifteen minute walk from Blaine's house, and Blaine had suggested that they return home on foot to clear their heads after the evening's disappointment. The boys were somewhat more dishevelled after the insanity of the scavenger hunt. Kurt's face was slightly flushed, while Blaine's hair had broken into unruly curls beneath his crooked bandana.

"Yeah, about that," Blaine said, suspicion creeping into his tone. "How on earth did he manage to get all of those things so quickly by himself?"

"I call cheating," said Kurt, raising a cynical eyebrow.

And as they rounded the corner and came upon the Anderson's street, Blaine merely shook his head again and growled: "_Sebastian_."

The front door of Blaine's house opened with a high-tech code system which prompted Blaine to enter several numbers in sequence and then used voice recognition to allow entry. Kurt watched all of this unfold in fascination. He was so distracted by the unfamiliar technology, in fact, that he didn't see the figure in the doorway until about five seconds after the door opened and Blaine froze.

Paul Anderson stood before them wearing his two trademark accessories: a strict black suit and a frown.

"Blaine," he said curtly, "it's after midnight."

Blaine reached up absently and pulled the bandana off of his head. "I know. It was the school's Halloween thing tonight, remember?"

"What, and that's an excuse?" Paul demanded, frown deepening. His eyes brushed over Kurt once, and then narrowed even further. "I expect you to be home at a reasonable time unless you tell us otherwise."

"I _told _Roger," Blaine shot back. "And Mom." He put an angry hand to his head. "Why is this suddenly such a huge deal? Since when have I ever had a curfew?"

Paul's voice went dangerously low. "Get inside, both of you."

They obeyed—Blaine grudgingly, and Kurt in complete silence, with wide eyes. His satchel slid off of his shoulder, and he simply allowed it to fall to the ground, rather than make a scene by retrieving it.

Paul closed the door. Hard. The noise reverberated through the foyer. "Kurt," he said. "By taking you in, I assumed we had made an agreement. I expect some caution in the way you behave."

"Don't blame _him_," Blaine broke in angrily.

"Blaine, be quiet."

He scoffed in disbelief. "No! This is just... infuriating. You expect 'caution' from him, but you don't even have the decency to acknowledge his presence ninety percent of the time."

"_Blaine, that's enough!_"

"You know what, Dad?" Blaine threw his hands up into the air. "No. _I've_ had enough of this. I just... I can't even talk to you anymore." And with that, he turned and stormed away. Kurt heard his footsteps slamming up the staircase, and glanced awkwardly at Paul.

The older man's jaw was clenched, and his eyes were still trained on the now deserted staircase down the hallway. He flicked his gaze down and then nodded once, slowly, in a manner that suggested he was reinforcing his point to Kurt. Then, he spun around and walked away. Kurt stood for a few moments, feeling the rush of the evening fade out in a wave of embarrassment and unease. After several seconds, he, too, climbed up the staircase and headed for his room.

Blaine's door was open at the end of the hallway, and Kurt saw him sitting on the edge of his bed, leaning over, with his head in his hands. Feeling as though he was intruding on something, he quickly slid into his own room and pulled the door shut.

No sooner had he entered, however, when he felt for his shoulder strap and realized that he had left his satchel on the floor downstairs. It had his wallet in it, and there was a certain unease to going to bed with it floating around the lower storey of the Anderson residence, and so he padded back down the hallway and down the twisting staircase.

He was in the process of re-slinging it over his shoulder when he heard something that made his heart drop. Voices, hushed but strained in their continual rising, were coming from the kitchen area.

"_...I'm saying I don't like it, that's what. We should have had some warning. If I'd known ahead of time that he was..."_

"_What?_" Evelyn cut Paul off. "_You wouldn't have taken him in? Paul, he's just a kid who needs help_."

"_You're telling me it doesn't bother you? The whole situation? The two of them..._"

"_The two of them _what_, Paul?_"

"_Well, they're basically living together, aren't they? Their rooms are right across from each other. How do we know_—?"

"_Blaine is a smart boy. And despite what you may think, he's very responsible."_

"_Yes, staying out late... parading the kid around downtown at night when he's supposed to be laying low. The absolute picture of responsibility_—"

_"You seem to be forgetting that Blaine goes to that event every year."_

Paul mumbled something that was impossible to hear.

Kurt decided that he had heard enough, anyway. Feeling utterly sick to his stomach, he turned and bolted back up the stairs, keeping his footsteps as light as possible.

The moment he closed his bedroom door, everything suddenly hit him like a freight train. Shame, fear, and homesickness pulsed through his veins, and his chest felt as though a dark cloud had settled into it. The reality sunk in: He was miles away from home in a house where his presence was largely unwelcome.

Completely numb, Kurt stumbled over to his bed and dropped down onto it, allowing himself this moment to do something that he usually made a point of strictly forbidding:

He curled up, sunk his head into his pillow, and quietly cried.

(_Approximately Five Hours Later_)

"Kurt."

Amidst tangled sheets, Kurt shifted, suddenly acutely aware of a tight pain in his neck.

"_Kurt_." The voice became more urgent, and he sat up, rubbing his eyes. Anita, the Andersons' housekeeper, was standing in his doorway. She was a soft, homely-looking woman in her fifties who always wore her hair in the exact same elaborate updo. "Mr. Anderson wants you downstairs as soon as possible. He says it's urgent."

Kurt blinked a few times, and reflexively checked the clock, which read 6:02. "Okay?" he replied blearily.

As Anita's footsteps creaked back down the hallway, Kurt realized why he felt so uncomfortable and sore. He had fallen asleep fully clothed, with his Fiyero pants cutting off the circulation to his legs and his satchel pressed up against his side. The tight feeling of having cried oneself to sleep lingered in his throat, and he was hit again with the dull ache of sadness that had settled into his bones last night.

Forcing himself out of bed, Kurt wondered and worried about why Paul wanted to speak to him so early. The most logical answer seemed to be that he was sending him away to live somewhere else. As he ridded himself of the painful costume and tugged on a pair of Armani track pants and a black T-shirt, he came to realize that this probably _was _the reason, and he was hit with a horrible sinking sensation.

Kurt took the stairs slowly, as though he was marching to his execution. He found Paul in the kitchen, reading a newspaper and sipping a mug of coffee.

"Good morning," he said, glancing up from the news.

"Morning," Kurt replied, standing stiffly and awaiting his fate. "...You wanted to talk to me?"

Paul nodded. "Your father told me he wakes up early on weekdays. Something about running a car dealership?"

"A garage," Kurt corrected automatically, wondering what on earth this piece of information had to do with anything.

"In any case," Paul continued, "he seemed to think that before school would be the best time for regular Skype calls."

Kurt felt as though his chest had suddenly inflated. "You mean...?"

"I've got it all set up in the office, come on."

Kurt followed dazedly, drowning in relief and anticipation. "The office" turned out to be a small, heavily furnished room on the lower storey that contained more filing cabinets than anybody could ever possibly need. Like the rest of the Anderson residence, it was neat and orderly, with demure colours and an air of clean sophistication. It did seem slightly less picture perfect than the rest of the house, though. The dust settled upon the desk was perhaps a sign that this room was not included in Anita's usual rounds.

"It's all ready to go here," Paul said brusquely, leaning over and using the mouse to bring up Skype. He gestured for Kurt to sit. "You've got until quarter to seven. Just make sure you log out when you're done."

Kurt took a seat in the leather chair and looked up. "Thank you," he said sincerely.

As per usual, the man's response was a quick nod and nothing more. He left Kurt to his own devices, and moments later, there was an incoming call.

When his father's face appeared, in live motion, on the wide screen in front of him, Kurt almost burst into tears again.

"Dad," he said.

"Hey, kiddo." Burt sounded slightly gruff. "Good to see your face."

Kurt smiled a wide, true grin. "I'm sorry you've been deprived of your daily dose of my beauty."

Burt laughed. "Can't believe I'm sayin' this, but I miss that ego. How're they treating you over there?"

"It's..." Kurt hesitated, but only slightly. His dad didn't need any more to stress about. "...Great. I'm pretty much living the dream." He went on tell his father all about the Andersons and Dalton, emphasizing the glamour and fun and conveniently forgetting only a few crucial pieces of information.

"Sounds like you're getting a pretty good deal out of all of this," Burt finally said. "That set-up behind you looks like it cost more money than I'd know what to do with."

"This is nothing," Kurt told him. "I wish I could show you the rest of the house. My room looks like it belongs in Ralph Lauren's studio apartment."

"I don't have a clue who that is, but I'm guessing it's a good thing."

Kurt sighed. "I'm always amazed at how little you've picked up about fashion over the years."

"Hey! I wore that jacket from that Jacob Mark guy to your grandpa's birthday last year, remember?"

Despite the fashion sacrilege, Kurt felt something prickle in his throat. "I miss you, Dad."

(_On the Other Side of the Door_)

Blaine was making his way lazily down the stairs, hand sliding along the banister, when he heard it.

Kurt's voice was coming from his father's office. It was so unexpected that his curiosity got the better of him and he swivelled around at the foot of the staircase to head for the generally off-limits room. The door was open a crack - just enough to casually lean forward and make out Kurt's profile as he smiled and laughed and spoke animatedly to the computer screen.

For whatever reason (Blaine would later blame the fact that he had just woken up), he stayed there for a good couple of minutes, standing around the corner and just listening to Kurt's voice.

Blaine was still tired, and he was thinking about a lot of things, and because of this, he failed to register the end of the conversation. Before he knew what was happening, the office door was swinging open and Kurt was emerging, sniffling. Blaine froze, and then tried to look as though he had been casually passing by and not eavesdropping. It was only after a couple of seconds that he realized Kurt was crying. His eyes were rimmed in pink against his pale skin.

"Are you okay?" was all Blaine could think to ask.

Kurt brushed his cheeks off with the back of his hand. "Fine... fine. Just being stupid and melodramatic."

"Your dad?" Blaine asked.

Kurt exhaled. "Yeah. It's just hard... seeing him, I guess."

"You guys must be pretty close," Blaine said, staring at his feet.

Kurt smiled wryly. "Would it be completely pathetic to say he's my best friend?"

"Absolutely not. I think that's amazing, actually."

After a moment of silence, Kurt took a breath and twitched into action. "Well, I'm already ten minutes behind on my moisturizing routine. I should... go get ready."

Blaine watched Kurt walk away, and something struck him. With great urgency, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and selected the Warblers group, sending one critical, to-the-point message.

_**SOS. Emergency meeting in Senior Commons. ASAP!**_

(_Light_)

Before eight o'clock in the morning, Dalton Academy was practically deserted. Trophy cabinets gleamed peacefully and sunlight streamed in through the enormous windows. The North hallway was empty except for one person - a tall, thin boy with messy black hair, who was walking briskly in the direction of the Senior Commons. Griffin Eldridge, who had never been on time in his life, let alone early, marvelled at the lack of activity in the halls. It was oddly creepy.

Then, all of a sudden, he skidded to a halt.

There was music emanating from behind the closed door of an office to his right. Music from a piano.

The boy's icy blue eyes narrowed and he marched right up to the door, pressing his ear up against it. The office belonged to Mrs. Gurgenheimer, the school's elderly counsellor. Suspicion growing, Griffin sidled over to the window and squinted through the partially open venetian blinds.

Jamie was sitting behind an old piano while Gurgenheimer looked on from behind her lace-covered desk, nodding in appraisal. The boy had his eyes closed, sunlight from the enormous picture window coating half of his face. His fingers stroked the keys softly as the introduction came to an end, and when he began singing, his voice was full of some remote sadness.

_**watch?v=96gcj4N0aNU**  
Yellow diamonds in the light  
Now we're standing side by side  
As your shadow crosses mine  
What it takes to come alive_

A chill swept through Griffin's being. Jamie's playing was always impressive, but there was something different about this. It was raw, almost as though he was baring his emotions in a way that he never allowed himself to.

_It's the way I'm feeling, I just can't deny  
But I've to let it go_

_We found love in a hopeless place  
We found love in a hopeless place  
We found love in a hopeless place  
We found love in a hopeless place_

Jamie continued to pound the keys, eyes closed, an expression of pain on his face as the song grew in intensity. It was, for whatever reason, hard to watch. Griffin felt for the first time that whatever was going on with his best friend might be more serious than he was letting on. As the music continued to pour into the empty hallway, he turned and leaned his back against the wall, eyes focused on the end of the corridor as his ears continued to experience the strange pull of the song.

_Yellow diamonds in the light  
Now we're standing side by side  
As your shadow crosses mine  
What it takes to come alive_

_We found love in a hopeless place..._

The piano notes faded out, leaving a few seconds of complete and utter silence.

"_I think that's all we have time for today_," Mrs. Gurgenheimer's voice, muffled but audible, came from within the office. "_Did you feel that was helpful?"_

"_I guess." _Jamie seemed to hesitate._ "...Sometimes... I feel like I'm only really myself when I'm at a piano."_

_Well I can see what it brings out in you, dear. You are very gifted. Don't forget I'm moving our usual Wednesday session to Thursday this week._"

"_Alright. Thanks, Mrs. G."_

Before Griffin could so much as blink, the door swung open and he was face to face with a very stunned looking Jamie. There was a strange look of dread on the curly-haired boy's face.

"What the hell?" he exclaimed angrily. "Were you..._spying _on me? What are you even doing at school this early?"

Griffin held his hands up in a gesture of peace. "Just being a good friend," he said, elaborating: "You know, responding to Blaine's SOS. Calm down." There was a slight pause, during which the two of them stared at one another; Jamie with hard eyes and Griffin with a narrow, questioning gaze.

"I'm sorry, but you're getting _counselling_?" Griffin finally said.

"Just drop it," Jamie replied shortly. "I don't want to talk about it."

"I know you don't want to talk about it," Griffin shot back. "You know why? Because you don't want to talk to me about anything anymore. You're confiding in Mrs. _Gurgenheimer _for Christ's sake! We used to tell each other everything."

Jamie looked furious. "Maybe I don't _want _to tell you everything. Maybe I don't want a best friend who just keeps pushing and pushing. Maybe I just want you to leave me _alone_."

"Maybe I should," he shot back with a snort.

"I really mean it, Griff," Jamie said, bringing his voice down a notch. "There are just some... things that I need to go through on my own right now, all right? I think that maybe we should just... do our own things for a while. Take a break from the whole being friends thing."

A long, drawn out silence.

"...Are you actually being serious right now?" Griffin asked incredulously.

Jamie's responding silence was as good as an affirmation.

"I don't fucking believe this. Fine. Fine! You want to throw our friendship down the drain, _fine. _I have _had _it with this shit." And he turned an stormed away.

Behind him, Jamie stood still for a long while, eyes trained on Griffin's retreating back until it disappeared around the corner. With a clenched jaw, he turned and headed for the music room.

(_Ambush_)

Kurt scribbled aimlessly, pushing his pencil across the page of his notebook and watching as a rather brilliant skirt design began to form. He had come to the Study Commons with the intention of getting ahead on his Calculus problems, but he found that his mind simply couldn't focus. His page had one math problem neatly copied out across the top, and the rest was a whirlwind of dresses, shirts and accessories.

Blaine had insisted that they go in early that morning, but hadn't elaborated, and had proceeded to disappear to the Senior Commons for a 'meeting'. Kurt wasn't annoyed or anything, really—just a little put out. Being left alone with his thoughts was exactly what he didn't need right now. With a sigh, he dropped his head against his hand and continued to draw with a lifeless expression on his face.

He nearly had a heart attack when the door burst open and Luke appeared out of nowhere, drumming his hands against the table as a loud backing track began to blare from the speakers on the wall that were used for morning announcements. Kurt dropped his pencil. All of the Warblers, except for Jamie and Griffin, proceeded to run, jump and dance into the room, clapping and moving to the upbeat music with smiles on their faces. Blaine was the last one in, and he caught Kurt's eye with a huge grin before he started singing.

_**watch?v=TR1VbE6Yrjo**  
When it feels like the world is on your shoulders  
And all of the madness has gotcha going crazy  
It's time to get out, step out into the street  
Where all of the action is right there at your feet_

Blaine pulled Kurt to his feet, holding onto his hands and twirling him around.

_Well, I know a place where we can dance the whole night away  
And it's called the Moulin Rouge, oh  
Just come with me and we can shake your blues right away  
You'll be doing fine once the music starts..._

Blaine tugged Kurt's hand and pulled him out of the study commons at a run. The rest of the Warblers followed them down the staircase, grooving to the music all the while. Luke and Jeff slid down the banister on either side, earning them momentary disapproving looks from David. Unfazed, they grabbed his hands at the bottom of the stairs and led him into a tango-like dance through the hallway. Wes clutched his sides as he laughed until he cried at the sight. The music was blasting throughout the school - it appeared to be coming out of every pair of speakers in every room. Kurt cracked a disbelieving smile at the insanity that was happening, and it simply didn't seem to be able to leave his face. He started to sing along.

_We can leave them all behind..._

Blaine still had not let go of Kurt's hand. He looked at him with bright eyes as they rounded the corner into the main hallway, singing to him:

_Look out on the street now, the party's just beginning  
The music's playing, a celebration's starting  
Under the street lights, a scene is being set  
A night for romance, a night you won't forget _

Dalton students were slowly filtering in, and several were at their lockers in the hallway. Several exchanged high fives with Luke as the Warblers sang and danced their way down the hall, with others dancing along on the sidelines.

_So, come join the fun, this ain't no time to be staying home  
Moulin Rouge is going on, yeah  
Tonight is gonna be a night like you've never known  
We're gonna have a good time the whole night long_

David executed an impressive back flip off of the wall, while Wes slid on his knees along the hardwood floor. The small crowd whooped in admiration.

_And it's called the Moulin Rouge..._

The Warblers, having made it to the end of the hallway, pushed open the extravagant concert hall double doors and paraded into the vast expanse of the auditorium. Full of energy, they skipped down the aisles, singing loudly, and climbed the stairs to the stage.

_Feel the beat of the rhythm of the night (feel the rhythm)  
Forget about the worries on your mind (on your mind)  
Feel the beat of the rhythm of the night (feel the rhythm)  
Forget about the worries on your mind (we can leave them all behind)_

_We can leave them all behind..._

The music faded away, leaving the nine boys standing in the centre of the stage, panting heavily.

"Did it work?" Luke asked Kurt, somewhat eagerly.

Kurt raised his eyebrows. "Did what work?"

"Are you cheered up?"

Kurt blinked. It started to sink in, and something seemed to be tingling in his chest. "Hang on, you did this... for me?"

"Of course," David replied. "Blaine said you'd been feeling down, so we did what we Warblers know best."

"Highjack school PA systems and generally cause public disturbances?" Jeff tried.

David snorted. "I was going for 'sing', but that's probably more accurate."

Kurt was stunned. It was as though he was living in some sort of weird alternate universe. Did people actually do these things in real life? He tried to imagine the New Directions prancing down the hallway to something from the Moulin Rouge soundtrack. In his mind, the letterman-jacket wearing jocks smiled stupidly and high-fived Rachel as she passed by, belting out the lead. His mental laughter quickly turned to a shudder as thought about the slushie bloodbath that would inevitably ensue in reality.

Finally, after a long silence, he glanced around at all the faces surrounding him. David and Wes were smiling warmly, though there was a hint of smugness in their expressions. Beside them, Thad and Luke were executing a rather intense version of The Beast, while Trent watched with good-natured disdain on his face. Nick was smiling with brown-eyed sincerity, while Jeff simply looked happy and charismatic as always. Blaine staring quietly at Kurt as though trying to gage his reaction, and when their eyes finally connected, Kurt exhaled and smiled. "That was... really... Just, thank you," he said sincerely.

"That's not all, though," Blaine said mysteriously, and when Kurt raised his eyebrows, he continued: "We have plans for tomorrow tonight that may or may not involve front row Mezz seats in the Gershwin Theatre."

Kurt's breath caught again. "...Seriously?" That settled it; the dream theory had been well and truly proven. Any second now, the McKinley High football team was going to burst into the auditorium wearing tutus and announce their resolve to join Glee Club. "Okay, what is the catch here?"

"Hey," Wes cut in gently. "We Warblers look after our own. We just want you to feel welcome and happy. It's a long time Warbler philosophy that a close team is more successful."

"Plus we really just wanted an excuse to see Wicked together," Jeff threw in with a shrug.

"Yes, that too," agreed Wes.

The bell sounded.

It was as though David and Wes had been prodded with hot pokers. "We're meeting at my place before the show," David hastily offered, already moving in the direction of the exit. "Details at lunch." Wes offered a wave as the two of them disappeared through the door.

"Come on," Blaine said to Kurt as the others began to disperse, "I'll walk you to class."

(_No Good Deed_)

David lived in a grand apartment complex on the Upper East Side that was stately and quiet in its elegance. His father was a well-known cardiothoracic surgeon, and the family's wealth was apparent. The building, a pristine example of old architecture, was surrounded by several sprawling, ancient trees which rustled lightly in the wind. It almost looked like an ivy league university campus.

When Blaine and Kurt stepped off of the elevator at half past five on Tuesday, the first thing to greet them was a loud, excited squeal as a young girl came running into the very spacious room. She was wearing pigtails and clutching something to her chest as she ran, full-throttle, toward the two of them.

"Hide me!" she shrieked, diving behind Blaine and crouching on the ground. Simultaneously, a small boy who looked like a miniature version of David came skidding around the corner. His eyebrows were angling sharply downward. "Emily! Give it _back_," he wailed.

"No, it's my turn," she protested, peeking around Blaine's leg. "You can have it when I'm done."

"I want it _now_."

It was at this moment that a very haggard-looking David came into the room and glared at his younger siblings. "Emily," he said with great patience, "It is Austin's turn with the colouring book. Please give it back or I will be forced to tell Mrs. Kipling that you're not actually doing your private study in the lounge like she thinks you are."

"Oh poo," she said crossly, handing it over. She looked up at Blaine, flashing a bright smile. "Hi Blaine." Her eyes slid interestedly to Kurt. "I've never seen you before."

"That's because I just moved here," Kurt supplied.

"Cool! What's your name?"

"Kurt."

"Your voice is really high."

"Emily, go back to your slacking, please, and leave my friends alone," David commanded, steering her by the shoulders.

"Can't I come see Wicked with you tonight?"

"No."

"Pretty pretty please?"

"I'll take you late this week, deal?"

"Fine. Bye Kurt! Bye Blaine!" she skipped off down the hallway, pigtails swishing about.

"Sorry about that," David said with a grimace as Kurt and Blaine removed their shoes and scarves. "The cretins are supposed to be shut away in their rooms for the night. Come on, the party's through here." He led them through the high-ceilinged space and into a lavish area that was all leather couches and fancy electronics. A railed loft area overhung the room, looking down upon it.

David had not been joking when he had said 'party'. The rest of the Warblers were spread across the couches and floor, eating popcorn and drinking soft drinks as music thumped all around them. On the central glass coffee table, there was an enormous cake that was covered in sugared strawberries and had _Welcome to the Warblers, Kurt! _written across it in slightly wonky chocolate frosting.

"They're here!" Trent announced as he saw the newcomers enter the room.

Luke jumped to his feet. "Does that mean we get cake now?"

"I put great time and effort into that cake," Thad protested, mouth full of popcorn. "I will not have you defiling it."

Kurt regarded the set-up and shook his head in disbelief. "I can't believe you did all this," he said. Blaine was watching him out of the corner of his eye with a half-smile.

"Well, you'd better believe it, dude," Jeff said. He leaned over in his chair, reaching at length for something on the floor and struggling to retrieve a colourful cardboard box that looked as though it contained a board game. "Okay, who wants to play truth or dare?"

David's expression turned stony. "I'm sorry, I missed the part where we morphed into twelve-year-old schoolgirls."

"David, we all know you spent your Friday nights crying over Dawson's Creek reruns," Luke said, flopping onto the couch beside him and spilling a bit of soda onto the Warbler's jeans.

"Luke, you are the perfect example of why some species eat their young," David retorted, wiping the grape-flavoured liquid off of his leg in annoyance.

Wes joined the group around the table, staring at the game as Jeff unpacked it. "Since when do you need a box to play truth or dare?"

"Since I stole my sister's board game version. It's awesome, trust me. They have like, cards with dares and questions on them."

"Sounds superduperfantabulous," Griffin enthused sarcastically.

"Blaine should go first," Jeff said, stacking the cards into a neat pile. The Warblers were all gathered around now, a large group spread over the floor and couches.

"...Why?" Blaine asked, raising his eyebrows and clearly questioning the motives and thought behind this decision.

"Because you're the first person I thought of." Jeff shrugged. "Truth, or dare?"

Blaine wrinkled his forehead, but did not protest. He sighed in submission, missing the sly glance that his friends were exchanging all around him. "Truth."

Jeff drew a card and cleared his throat. "Blaine Anderson," he said, very seriously, "Do you currently have feelings for someone..."

Blaine made to answer but what cut off as Jeff continued:

"...with brown hair and blue eyes?"

"That's..." Blaine blinked. "...oddly specific?"

"Answer the question, Blaine," Trent sing-songed.

Kurt, who was trying to figure out what exactly was going on here, looked to his left, where Blaine was sitting. The boy was making suspicious eyes at Jeff, cheeks turning a little pink beneath his olive complexion. Somewhere in the back of Kurt's mind, a small voice that he shunned for its patheticness was saying _Me! I have all of those things! _

Blaine gritted his teeth. "I want to see that card," he said.

Jeff shielded it against his chest. "No can do. Against the rules. Just answer the question. Is there a _reason _this is so hard, or...?"

"Yes," Blaine said shortly.

"Yes as in there _is _a reason, or yes as in—"

"Yes as in that's my answer. Potentially, possibly, yes. Can we move on?"

Jeff's smirk widened. "Wait, it says here: For bonus points... Does this person happen to be a singer?"

That was the last straw. Blaine launched himself over the table, reaching for the card. "It does not say that! That doesn't even make contextual sense!"

"Okay, okay," Wes cut in. "We're supposed to be _bonding _here. Moving on?"

The game progressed, and once they had made a sufficiently large dent in the cake, David looked at his watch and proclaimed that they'd better leave if they wanted to get to the theatre on time. The caught the subway as a group, drawing annoyed looks from several passengers for their loud and generally over-excitable buzz of energy.

The Gershwin Theatre was crawling with people when they arrived. Outside, the night sky was dark against the bright lights of the building, and inside, there was a hum of anticipation pulsing through the crowd. Kurt felt like he was living a dream as he stepped into the foyer and examined the big maps of Oz lining the walls against the staircases.

Blaine had been oddly silent since the beginning of the party. Kurt, meanwhile, was burning with some sort of strange hope. It seemed as though (maybe he was reading too much into this) the Warblers had been giving Blaine a hard time about his feelings for someone... Someone with brown hair and blue eyes. Someone who _sang_...

_Don't be stupid_, Kurt reminded himself for the millionth time as he snuck a glance at Blaine's profile. Under the lighting of the fancy theatre lights, he was reminded once again of just how simply gorgeous he was. _It's not you. There's no way. You've barely been here five days. They're obviously talking about someone else..._

The thought felt like a lead weight in his stomach. He imagined Blaine with a faceless, Adonis-like model who was immeasurably more good-looking, smart, and charming than he would ever be. He probably wore Armani that didn't come from the damage sale rack, and lived in a sprawling mansion in the Hamptons where he could happily save the lives of thousands of orphans while simultaneously finding a cure for cancer. His name was almost definitely Jeremiah, or something equally stupid.

"So, are you ready to experience the beauty that is _Wicked_?" Blaine came forward a bit, falling into step beside Kurt as they made their way up the first staircase.

Kurt snapped out of his vision, and he couldn't stop a hint of a smile from pulling at his lips. "Ridiculously so." He had no idea what made him say what he did next, but the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. "Will you sit next to me?"

Blaine's eyes widened for a very, very small second, and then his face morphed back into its trademark easy grin. "Of course," he said, as though he wouldn't have it any other way.

Blaine insisted that Kurt take the very centre seat, with nothing but a perfect, wide-stretching view of the stage before him. As the rest of the Warblers fell into place all around them, chattering noisily in the rapidly-filling theatre, Kurt felt some sort of tension rising in his body. Partly to do, he supposed, with the oncoming performance, and partly to do with the proximity of Blaine's shoulder to his own. Were he to turn his head, their faces would be less than a foot apart. _What is wrong with you_? he asked himself. _Yes, you've been known to have some pretty intense crushes, but this... this is something else. _

The performance was everything Kurt hoped for and more. The costumes were exquisite, the acting flawless, and the dance numbers utterly awe-inspiring. Even David's eyes were glistening when the lights faded back in after the final, shiver-inducing notes of Defying Gravity. He felt Blaine's eyes on him several times, and once, while Elphaba was tearing the room apart with her epic rendition of _No Good Deed_, he turned slightly, catching Blaine's gaze. His eyes were alight with emotion and excitement and just raw _feeling, _and they exchanged huge, genuine smiles as the crowd was lifted up upon a high note. Kurt felt shivers all throughout his body that had nothing to do with the emotional crescendo of the music.

All too soon, the darkness lifted. "Move aside!" Luke said the moment the show let out. "Man with a full bladder here." He shoved his way urgently down the aisle and high-tailed it to the nearest restroom as the rest of the Warblers began to file out of their row.

"That was..." Kurt struggled to describe what he had just experienced. "...There are no words."

"How amazing was that _For Good_?" Blaine enthused. "Amanda Gray's voice is like a this deceivingly sweet supernova of awesomeness."

"Oh my God," Kurt agreed. "And the way they blended together. I thought I was going to die when they hit that jump."

The group congregated in the upper level lobby, exchanging excited reviews of the show. After a minute, Kurt excused himself to use the washroom, and idly daydreamed as he waited in line. Upon exiting, he checked himself over in the mirror, lifting his chin and examining his face from all angles. Then, he carefully touched up his hair and smoothed down the front of his navy button-up, ensuring that everything was in place.

As he made his way back to the Warblers, he was high on a strange, giddy feeling that was a jumble of Blaine, the show, Blaine, and Blaine. Blaine with his huge smile, his wide, long-lashed eyes, Blaine, who was...

...embracing a strange, brown-haired male who bore an uncanny resemblance to the evil imaginary underwear model, Jeremiah.

"Kurt!" said Blaine, pulling away as he noticed his approach. "This is Greg. He's one of the understudies for Fiyero."

"Oh. Nice to meet you." Kurt eyed the stranger up and down, taking in the chiselled good looks, the windswept chestnut hair, the deep blue eyes...

And suddenly, his heart dropped.

_...Brown hair and blue eyes_... _a singer..._

"And you." Greg, oblivious to all this, shook Kurt's hand firmly. "How'd you like the show?"

"It was... really, really great," he heard himself saying vaguely, as his mind continued to muddle through the haze of disappointment settling all around it. In an attempt to get back to reality, he looked back and forth between Blaine and Greg. "So... how do you two know each other?"

They both laughed, smiles attached to their faces. Kurt's program became a mutilated ball of crumpled paper in his fist.

"It's a funny story, actually," Blaine said.

"We met on the Subway," Greg elaborated. "He literally fell into my lap."

"It was a sudden stop!" Blaine defended himself. "They were having problems with the train."

"Actually, he's just really uncoordinated."

"Liar," Blaine said, shaking his head. "Anyway, after I apologized _profusely_ for about twenty minutes, we got talking and I found out that he'd just landed a job on Wicked. Obviously, I made sure we remained in touch just in case there was free backstage access and VIP perks involved."

"Ah, so _that _was your motive all along."

Kurt was barely listening. His fingernails fug into his palms as he watched this tall, good-looking person stand there chat with Blaine. Captain Dreamypants had also somehow managed to land his dream job, despite the fact that he hardly appeared to be older than him at all. Also, he was _nice. _Was it possible to hate someone this much when you had just met them?

"Anyway, I should go," Greg was saying. "Cast meeting tonight. Nice seeing you, though, Blaine. Come watch us again sometime soon, hey? I'm filling in for Jason on Friday."

Blaine smiled. "I'll see what I can do."

"Nice to meet you, Kurt."

"You too, Jer—Greg." Kurt forced a smile as the performer walked away, the expression tight and pained across his jaw. "He seems... nice."

"Yeah," Blaine said obliviously. "You two should totally get to know one another. I bet he has good advice on how to break into the business."

"Hmm," he replied noncommittally. As they exited the theatre, Jeff and Luke singing a very emotionally stirring rendition of _Defying Gravity _to the uncaring public, Kurt felt as though his body was filled with lead. He shuffled along in silence, glancing at Blaine out of the corner of his eye and repeating one phrase over and over in his mind.

_I am an idiot._

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry for another slight gap. Going back to university meant a slight adjustment period of crazy-insane-business, but it should be a little better now that I've got my schedule all sorted out. Thank you all times infinity for your reviews - they seriously make my day. :D

**Next time: The Warblers take a little inspiration from the New Directions to shake things up. But things are tumultuous with several members of the Glee club, and with Sectionals fast approaching, they need to get their act together, and fast. **


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